


Not a Patron, Not a Benefactor

by RyeBread



Series: Not a Patron [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Caleb is Nott’s much older lawyer brother, Depression, Discussions of sex, Discussions of sexuality, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fjord and Nott are roommates, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Masturbation, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Mentions of pornography, Past Abuse, Sugar Daddy, Truth or Dare, based on a tumblr prompt, college stress, gratuitous shakespeare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeBread/pseuds/RyeBread
Summary: Fjord is an early twenties undergrad with a new roommate. Said roommate has a brother. An older brother. An older, lawyer brother who checks in on her, makes sure she’s doing well, and spends time around the apartment when he can spare it. He spends some time with Fjord, too. Long story short, Fjord finds himself with a sugar daddy.





	1. Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> So I was hoping to write more Widofjord content and found that old tumblr post [ here](http://luninosity.tumblr.com/post/132001415979/luninosity-overhead-while-walking-to-the) that gave me some ideas. I basically went off on a whole host of ideas on how these characters would act in a modern setting holding as closely as I can to canon.

The first thing Fjord notices about his new roommate is her height. Or rather, her absence of it. She’s strewn out on the small apartment’s couch when he lets himself in with the key he was given by student services. He’d thought she was asleep, but as he hefts his duffle over his shoulder and situates his overpacked suitcase against the mostly clean cabinetry, he sees a glimmer of eye shine through her hair. 

“You’re Nott, I assume?” Fjord offers, shuffling his bag against his back to free up his hand to shake. 

The girl rolls off the couch and onto her feet with surprising grace, delicately taking his hand for hardly a second. “You’d assume right,” she says. “You’re Fee-yord, then?”

“Fjord,” he corrects, “like the car.”

“Then why’s it got a ‘j’ in it?”

“Why does Nott have two ‘t’s?”

She shrugs, flopping back down onto the couch, putting her bare feet up on the coffee table. “You said you weren’t bringing a tv, so I brought one. I don’t use it much or anything, though, so if you ever want to watch something or play a video game, it’s all yours.”

The television isn’t overly large, but it does take up all the space on the little table against the far wall. Fjord nods, “Thank you kindly.”

Nott waves it off, “It’s nothing. Caleb gave it to me.”

Fjord pauses on his way toward the hallway that presumably leads to the bedrooms. “Caleb?”

“My older brother,” she says, leafing through a book Fjord hadn’t seen her pick up. “He likes to check up on me, you’ll see him around.”

And that’s that about that, since Nott immediately buries herself in the book. It’s just as well, since Fjord has quite a bit of unpacking to do in the meantime. The duffle and suitcase have most of his personal possessions, but his car - a Hyundai Elantra - has the pieces of an Ikea nightstand and two minifridges he salvaged from the dumpsters at the end of the previous semester. 

Nott keeps out of his way as he hauls things in, with a token offer to help him carry in his fridges after holding the door open for him. He can handle it all himself, though it leaves his arms sore and his fingers smarting from where they were pinched in the hinge. After an unsuccessful ten minutes of assembling the nightstand, he throws himself down on the bed, sheets folded in his suitcase still, and thinks about how he still needs to go shopping for food and books. The books can wait until the end of the week since he really doubts the bookstore will run out of either the boring electives or his possible-maybe-major Marine Biology books. The pang of guilt at not having decided on a major yet when he’s reliant on loans and the benefaction of his uncle just to be attending makes itself more prominent.

He instead makes the easier decision of choosing to go food shopping rather than order in, like an adult. He’s twenty-two, he should be more than capable of going out, no matter that it’s nearly nine o’clock at night, and filling up a grocery cart. He has been cooking for himself for almost six years now. It’s easy. He just needs to get up and do it. He sighs, letting his head hit the bare mattress, then rolls off the bed and onto his feet with a huff. He makes it five steps down the hallways when he realizes there’s someone other than Nott in the adjoined living space and kitchen. 

Their conversation is soft, indistinguishable even as close as he is to them. He takes the last step to peer around the corner. A man is sitting on the couch beside Nott, his ruddy brown hair slicked back and a smart suit fitted to his body. There is a briefcase on the table beside Nott’s book, the title he can now make out as one of the criminal justice required readings. Not the major he would have thought. It then occurs to him that in all their email exchanges about who would bring what and who would sleep where, she had never revealed what exactly she was studying. 

“Oh, you must be Fee-yord,” the man on the couch says, looking up with his piercing blue eyes. “I am Caleb, Nott’s brother.”

“Uh, yeah,” Fjord mumbles before remembering his manners. He stretches out a hand, which Caleb looks at for a second before taking it in his own just as briefly as Nott had done. “Nott’d mentioned you might be stopping by, I just hadn’t realized so soon or, uh, late.”

“It’s Fjord,” Nott chimes in, “like the car.”

“My apologies, Fjord,” Caleb says quickly, “for the mispronunciation and the late hour. I am just now getting out of the office and I pass by here on my way to my apartment anyway. I suppose I should have texted Nott to ask you if you would be amenable to the visit. This is a shared space after all.”

“It’s... fine?” Fjord says uncertainly. He’s not going to set visiting hours, especially if their typical conversations are so hushed that he can’t hear them from five feet away. “I was actually about to head out.”

“Are there enough underclassmen back to be throwing parties, then?” Caleb asks, and he’s joking, but Fjord still bristles. He would love to have that kind of luxury. Evidently he gives something away in his expression because Caleb immediately follows up with, “Though of course it is none of my business.”

Fjord sighs, just what he needs is to come across as unapproachable or haughty on the day he moves in. “Really, it’s fine, I was just going to get some last minute shopping in so I could make myself some dinner.”

“We were going to get pizza,” Nott says, impassive as she studies him. “You’re welcome to some.”

“The Walmart’s a five minute drive from here,” Fjord protests.

Caleb shakes his head, “Please, I insist. I’ve intruded on your space and evidently put my foot in my mouth, let me treat you both to dinner.”

For a professional looking man, complete with waxed beard and polished shoes, Caleb puts on a remarkably convincing set of puppy-eyes. Fjord is sunk and he knows it. “Alright.”

“Wunderbar! What would you like? Is a large pie going to be enough for the three of us?”

“Can we get those pepperoni garlic knots?” Nott asks. She’s got a phone in her hand, already scrolling down the screen. 

“Fjord?”

Rather than keep standing awkwardly beside the couch, Fjord takes a seat on Nott’s other side. “Don’t look at me, I’m getting a free dinner. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

Nott rolls her eyes, but Caleb takes it in stride. “Okay, well, any allergies?”

“Just cats,” Fjord says, “but I doubt that’s a pizza topping.”

Caleb frowns and unconsciously brushes down the front of his suit. He recovers quickly, “Of course not, hah. I am glad I just dry cleaned this suit though. I will do my best to make sure no trace of Frumpkin makes its way into your space.”

“Frumpkin?”

“Caleb’s cat,” Nott explains. “The current Frumpkin, at least,” she adds.

At Fjord’s askance look, Caleb smiles, “When Nott first, ah, well, when Nott was younger, I got her a bunny named Frumpkin. About a year after she got it, it took ill. When it passed in the night, I ran out quickly that morning to find a replacement, you know, to pretend there had been a miracle. Well, there were no other rabbits, so I panicked, and well...”

“He bought a rat,” Nott says. “I was thirteen. He thought I wouldn’t realize it was a different animal.”

“I panicked!” Caleb protests, the tips of his ears going pink.

“Well, that Frumpkin only lived to be two, which was pretty good for a rat. When Caleb adopted the cat, it seemed only fitting to continue the Frumpkin tradition.”

Fjord laughs aloud and Caleb flushes all the way to his hairline. “I think it’s cute,” he says, shaking off the ripples of laughter.

“Quite,” Caleb mumbles. He perks up, “So! Sausage, peppers, onions? Six pepperoni garlic knots. Anything else?”

“That should be fine,” Fjord says easily. Nott nods.

“All right, you can place the order then, Nott.”

She hums, flicking deftly through the options. She has her eyes on Fjord as she does so and Fjord feels a little over examined all things considered. He had been fully prepared to buy a chicken breast and a brick of spinach to cook over the stove at ten o’clock at night. It was all part of the college experience. She hands the phone over to Caleb after a moment. 

The silence drags on for a minute. “So, Fjord,” Caleb tries, “Nott told me you were a few years older than is, ah, typical. Are you returning to school or had you done some travel?”

“My uncle owns a fishing company down in the gulf, I did some work for him during and after high school,” Fjord explains. 

Caleb nods, “And you found yourself wanting to do- not ‘more,’ god that sounds almost as bad as ‘better.’ You found yourself drawn to a career requiring a degree, then?”

Fjord shrugs, “Drawn sounds about right. My uncle, he always had some plan for me, said it was always out at sea where I’d find myself. I don’t think he was wrong, per se, I just wanted - more is the right word, I suppose,” he admits. “I wanted to see the ocean, not just the waves, if that makes any sense? There’s just so much we don’t know about it. Did you know we know almost as much about the surface of the moon as we do about the ocean floor? Heck, we probably know more about the moon!”

Caleb gives him an understand look. “When I was a young man, I always thought I needed to know more, too. I was a voracious reader. I loved to study the rules, laws. An odd hobby, I am sure, but it was... a drive.”

“You’re a... lawyer, then?”

Caleb nods, “Estates. I handle the affairs of the deceased, or the planning of the event for those still alive.”

“That’s, uh...”

“Morbid, I know,” Caleb says, a self-conscious hand at the back of his head. 

Nott hops off the couch, book in hand. “Let me know when the pizza is here,” she says, trotting off toward her room.

“Woah, hey,” Fjord calls, “I didn’t mean to take up all the family time. Let me get back to putting together my nightstand while you two get your sibling bonding in.”

“It’s fine,” Nott says, looking back, but at Caleb, not Fjord. “I should get this next chapter finished before bed anyway.”

Fjord frowns, but holds his tongue as she walks away. He turns back to Caleb apologetically. “I really didn’t mean to shove Nott out of the conversation.”

“We are not a very sociable pair,” Caleb says ambiguously. “This is all just things she knows. She gets bored.”

“Still,” Fjord says, trailing off before remembering where the previous conversation had left off. “Right, like I was saying. I meant to say that it sounded like a bit of, uh, a softer kind of Lawyer than the ones you always see on the television. Sinking their teeth in and screaming in the court room about objections and whatnot.”

“Oh, I used to be quite the pit bull,” Caleb says, wistful. “I was a corporate lawyer before I switched my specialty. I made partner at a firm in the city, but it ah, didn’t work out.”

Fjord whistles, “Still, partner at your age?”

“I was quite talented,” Caleb laughs, only it doesn’t sound happy. “Privileged.” He goes distant for a moment, the shakes his head, coming back to himself. “Sorry, I am wool gathering. It was not a good fit.”

Fjord lets the topic rest, discussing his time on the fishing boats for a while, Caleb asking delighted questions about the work that went into maintaining the vessels. Conversation drifts occasionally to the sort of work his uncle did, and Fjord carefully steers it back to the act of dragging in nets and cleaning the catches. It isn’t that he means to hedge the subject, but the truth of the matter was that even Fjord is a little uncertain as to where, exactly, his uncle is pulling in the money to run the boats considering their catches rarely matched the expenses. It was something he had learned not to question, as had all the other men and women he’d worked with. If Caleb notices his hesitance and avoidance, he doesn’t mention it.

A knock at the door pulls Fjord from his harrowing tale of being tossed overboard one summer, only partially fabricated. He and Caleb both snap their gazes to the door before Caleb stands to answer the door. His demeanor changes completely from the excitable and awkward, if sharply dressed, man who had greeted Fjord from a ratty couch to that of what Fjord pictured a lawyer should act. His back is straight, chin up, words not sharp, but not remotely warm as he addresses the rough faced boy at the door delivering their dinner. He pulls a few dollars from an honest to god money clip, counts them out silently, and slips them over to the boy before carefully sliding the door closed with his heel, hands full with a square box and a brown paper bag. Fjord rushes to help him put the food down on the round, slightly unbalanced kitchen table. 

When Fjord turns to call for Nott, the girl is already standing on the tile floor. He jumps back, heart in his throat, “Jesus, you’re quiet.”

“Thank you,” she says, though he hadn’t meant it as a compliment, per se. She and Caleb unpack the food, Nott retrieving a stack of paper plates and a set of neon plastic cups from the cabinets. It is a shocking contrast, Caleb in a suit that had to cost at least a couple thousand dollars while holding a translucent pink cup in one hand and a folded slice of pizza in the other.

“Thanks again for dinner,” Fjord says. He pries a slice free and onto a plate. He’ll just have the one, and maybe a garlic knot if they taste half as good as they smell. 

“It is not a problem,” Caleb says around a mouthful of bread and cheese. 

Nott has scarfed down three slices in the time it takes Fjord and Caleb to finish their first, and she reaches for a third garlic knot when she looks up at Fjord. He tilts his chin at one of the four remaining. “Go ahead.”

She snatches it up, unwrapping it to pull out the crisp pepperoni and watch that separately before the bread goes down the hatch. Caleb doesn’t say anything, simply wiping down his hands with a napkin after a second slice. “This was very good. It is very late, though. I am sorry for keeping you up. I must be on my way though, I have much work to do in the morning.”

Fjord frowns, “I would have been up later than this if I had to buy and cook my dinner tonight. Really, thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Caleb says, stepping around Fjord to give Nott a hug, which she returns carefully, hands bent out at the wrist to keep grease off his jacket. “Good night, Fjord. Good night, Nott, I love you.”

“Love you, too, Caleb,” Nott says, and it’s the most inflection she has put into her voice all day. Caleb gives Fjord a nod before slipping out, the door clicking shut softly. 

“He was nice,” Fjord says, stuffing plates and napkin into the empty pizza box and setting aside a slice for himself in the morning. 

“Caleb is the best,” Nott says with a heavy air of finality. 

Having nothing else to say to that, Fjord tosses as much as he can into the tiny kitchen garbage, washes his hands and face, then heads to bed with a, “Night,” over his shoulder. He is about to flop onto the bed with a full, warm stomach when he remembers he hasn’t put sheets or pillows onto it yet. 

Fuck it, he sleeps on the bare mattress.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord wakes up with the sun, catches up with Jester, and stresses really hard at how much an American Higher Education costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More set-up, introducing AU-Jester, and really just laying it on about how much college fucking costs in this country.
> 
> I figure Jester’s mother would still be a sex worker of some sort in this, so there’s an implication of it during her and Fjord’s bit.

A glaring slice of yellow sunlight wakes Fjord from a dream of choppy seas and slick ship decks. It isn’t unwelcome to be woken from it, but the sharp burn straight to his brain when he opens his eyes is made even more unpleasant when he realizes his neck is stiff from sleeping with no neck support. _Fjord’s terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day,_ he thinks, massaging the tension out of his neck and shoulder with one hand. He slept in his clothes from yesterday, too. And his towels are still in the trunk of his car. He takes a breath.

One step at a time. First: breakfast.

The dark brown boat shoes slide onto his feet easily, worn and comfortable. He pads out of his room, mindful of the hour and the potential Nott might be both a light sleeper and more of an afternoon riser. His concerns are made moot by Nott’s presence in the kitchen, making her way through a breakfast burrito with astonishing speed, only a napkin held haphazardly under her chin to catch the crumbs. She makes eye contact as she finishes swallowing.

“Morning,” Fjord offers.

“Good morning,” she says, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She tosses the napkin into the garbage and dusts her hands off over the sink. “How’s the bed?”

“Firm. Maybe a bit too firm,” he laughs, hand at his neck.

Nott looks to his neck then back to his eyes. “It might help if you slept with a pillow. Or sheets. Or just didn’t sleep on a bare mattress, spread eagle.”

Fjord frowns, “Were you watching me sleep?”

“Yes, Fjord, I crept into your room to- No! You were snoring like it was a competition and the door was open so I took a peek.” She sighs. “Did you still need to buy bed stuff?”

“No, no, I just didn’t finish unpacking last night and I was dog tired from the drive up. And thank you, again, for dinner last night. I know Caleb paid for everything, but you extended the invitation.”

Nott hums, “I figured it would be good to start things off polite. And I did invite Caleb over rather late without asking you. I’ll try to remember I don’t have my own place this year.”

“Much appreciated.” Fjord says. He slips around Nott to open the fridge and retrieve the uncovered slice of pizza from the night before. Pizza, Fjord thinks, is made even more perfect by being enjoyable hot or cold. Breakfast or dinner. Truly, it is the modern college student’s ambrosia. He folds it in one hand and takes his keys off the counter with the other. A quick sojourn out into the apartment parking lot, the sun still not fully risen, and he has his towels and toiletries from the trunk of his car. No other people are out at this hour, though there will certainly be more at all hours as the first day of classes draws closer. For now, Fjord is willing to enjoy the relative peace.

Nott has disappeared once more when Fjord unlocks the door and steps back into the apartment. He shrugs to himself and puts his keys back on the faux-marble counter top. He’s ready to shower off the previous day when he remembers his clothes are all still in his suitcase. He’d unpacked his duffle - a collapsible lamp by the bare bed, his personal books stacked on the closet shelf, a couple photographs on the walls. The pillows are vacuum sealed in the suitcase along with the comforter and bed spread. He digs those out, popping the nozzle to allow some air back in before unsealing the bags. Everything is hopelessly wrinkled, but he had budgeted for an iron on the great Walmart trip to come. He’ll just need to suffer the indignity of being a wrinkled, awful mess for a few hours. He tosses the least wrinkled pair of pants onto the bed along with a pair of briefs and a tank top he’d rolled up tightly rather than sealed. His shower is quick, just a scrub, rinse, and two minutes of gentle dissociation under the warm spray before he forces himself to get moving. He has things to do, dammit.

His little caddy of shampoo, soap, and shea butter fit neatly into the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror. He flosses and brushes his teeth, taking care to check his wisdom teeth. They’re coming in right, but he’s taking no chances with a tooth infection. That is not an expense he can afford. One brush with potentially disastrous dental work was more than enough to have him cautious. Satisfied with the state of his mouth, Fjord tussles his hair dry, combing the top back and feeling the length of the side fade. He can probably go another week before it gets completely necessary to give it another shave down to stubble. 

Fjord feels almost like a person again when he’s pulling his pants up over his ass in the privacy of his room. Wallet goes in the back pocket, keys are on the counter. Phone. He hadn’t charged it last night. He digs through the duffle bag, emptying out the side pockets and scaling through lint and change until he finds it. The most expensive thing he owns and he left it at the bottom of his bag. It lights up at a tap, secure in a life-proof, water-proof, floatation case with a scratch resistant screen cover. Ten percent battery, three missed calls, six texts, and two voicemails. All of them are from Jess, her contact put in as Jester. He dismisses the call notifications first then flips through the texts.

Jester: Hellloooooooo?? Are you here yet?

Jester: Fjord pick up it’s an emergency

Jester: the emergency is you haven’t called me back yet and I’m bored

Jester: you better be dying or having sex right now

Jester: I’m calling again right now and if you don’t pick up I’m assuming you are dead

Jester: RIP Fjord, he died of sex

Fjord rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself, and taps the play button on his voicemail. 

Jester’s voice croons out of the speaker, “Fjord? When are you getting back? You said you would be getting here today and it’s today right now! Call me back when you hear this, ok? I’m going to be really mad if you listen to this and don’t call me back right away, ok? Ok. And also I forgot which apartment you got this year so tell me that when you call, too. Ok goodbye.”

Fjord deletes it and plays the next one. “Fjord I can’t believe you died and nobody called me back to tell me you were dead. I’m checking the obituaries right now and there’s nothing here so I’m typing it up for you. ‘Fjord was a dummy who never kept his phone on him. He was really old and maybe that’s why he was so forgetful. He leaves behind three friends and his lover, Jester, with whom he never had sex because she was too young and beautiful to be tarnished by his old man hands. He died of sex with someone else. Everyone is sad. We are crying. Love, Jester.’ Call me back.”

Fjord makes the executive decision to wait on calling anyone until he is safely within Walmart’s off-white walls, having made the drive with his phone plugged in and face down on the passenger seat. He has fifteen percent battery remaining when he walks through the automatic doors, the chill of the air conditioning pebbling his skin uncomfortably. With a few deft taps, the phone is ringing and at his ear, one hand on the phone, the other pushing a cart in front of him.

“Hello?” Jester asks, as though she hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering.

“Hey, Jess,” Fjord says, “sorry I missed your call.”

“Callzzzz, plural. Is it the Alzheimer’s? Fjord, do you know where you are? Do you know your last name?”

“Ha. Ha. Anyway, I’m doing some last minute shopping for food, then I gotta finish setting up in my apartment, then I need to buy my books. After that the plan’s to get hit by a car so I can sue for enough money to escape all the debt I’m gonna be in.”

Jester huffs, “You shouldn’t joke about that, Fjord.”

“What, a degenerative, irreversible brain disorder’s fair game but suicide ideation’s off the table?”

“Yes! Besides, isn’t your uncle paying for you to go?”

Fjord grumbles. Being in debt to the state would probably be the better option in the short term. Ah well. “Debt is debt,” he mutters into the phone, steering into the first aisle to toss a loaf of bread into his cart. 

“Couldn’t you just invest in a webcam and do some private shows for some quick cash, though? I mean, probably there’s a market for like, GILF porn somewhere.”

Fjord chokes on air for a second. “Gotdammit, Jester!”

Jester roars with laughter on the other end. “I like that you get even more Texan when you’re all flustered.”

“I’m not whoring myself out for tuition money,” he says, heedless of the look or two from fellow shoppers.

Jester’s laughter stops. “Is there something wrong with whoring?”

Fjord flushes, “No.”

Jester continues, “Are you sure, because you sounded like you think there’s something wrong with people who have sex for money.”

“I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” Fjord says. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive.”

“You’re forgiven,” Jester says, and it’s frustrating that she means it. “Anyway, are you making sure to buy snacks, too? If you only get grown-up food like chicken cordon bleu and lasagna and forget to buy boxed cookies, I’m pretty sure you get kicked out of college for being too old and boring.”

“I’ll stop by Dunkin for a dozen donuts before you stop by the apartment,” Fjord promises.

“Good. Trade some out for the little coffee cake thingies, though. Oh, and the apple danish things. And make sure one’s Boston Creme.”

“Since when do you like Boston Creme?” Fjord rolls his cart down the next aisle, dropping in the staples: peanut butter, jam, instant coffee, bulk tea. 

“I don’t, but Molly will be by too, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Fjord confirms, taking stock of his cart. He’ll need condiments, too. Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise. Canned vegetables, canned meat, canned beans. Then he’ll need to get pots and pans, utensils, and all the other shit you need to work a kitchen. He’s running a tally of it all in his head, feeling a little sick at how much it’s all going to cost him. He rationalizes that it’s just this initial purchase and every other trip will be much cheaper, but it’s hitting him square in the wallet.

“Are you okay, Fjord?”

“Peachy,” he says, forcing himself to be just that. No sense making Jester worry. “I’m deciding on which brand of old people food I want.”

“Get the name brand prune juice,” she says. “It will help you make good bowel movements, which is both good for your ancient intestines and your future as a silver daddy porn star.”

Fjord grits his teeth, “You always gotta bring it back to that, huh?”

“Only because it bothers you,” she says cheerfully. “Anyway, I’m going to go find out if Molly is on campus somewhere and then I will see you later. Don’t forget to text me your apartment address so I can come bother you. I mean it, if you forget I’m going to be really, really mad.”

“I’m sending it now,” Fjord says, pausing next to the flour. He sets the phone to speaker as he types it into the little text box and sends it off. He puts his phone back up to his ear, “There.”

“Thank you!” Jester booms, loud enough that the woman at the end of the aisle looks up. Fjord curses softly as he turns off the speakerphone. “I’ll text you when I’m coming over like as I’m heading over so... be ready some time tomorrow,” she says at a much more reasonable volume.

Fjord nods, then adds, “Yep,” quickly after. His phone chimes to let him know he has less than 10% left. “Talk later, Jester, thanks for checking in on me.”

“Have fun shopping talk to you later byeeee-“

Fjord stuffs his phone back into his pocket. Half an hour and $400 later, he has two weeks of groceries, all the staples, kitchenware, cutlery, and an iron packed into his trunk and back seat. He sits in the parking space for a few minutes with his head on the wheel. It’s fine, it’s all perfectly fine. He has more than enough money to make it through the school year, he worked all summer for it. He worked for years for it. And yet, there’s the loan. Or rather The Loan. Tuition is almost thirty grand. He made barely that much in a year working full time on the boats. Fjord’s uncle had come out of his reclusive little island home to offer Fjord a deal. He would cover the cost of his education, he would just have to pay it back when he was done. No banks, no financial aid, no bullshit “scholarships.” Everything would be covered. Except, it was never that easy. Nothing is fucking easy. 

He takes a breath, runs a hand down his face, and gets home safely. Despite every instinct telling him to do it all in one trip, Fjord brings his shopping into the apartment over the course of three trips, if only to prevent an accident that would cost him even more. Nott is still nowhere to be found, so he fills the cabinets and refrigerators as respectfully as he can, partitioning his things to the left. 

He leaves his phone charging on the floor next to his mostly put together night stand as he irons first the sheets, then the comforter. Bed made, he moves onto his clothes, meticulously folding each article and laying it on his bed to put away in the stackable plastic containers in the closet. It takes him the better part of the afternoon, but a clean room is a clean mind. Everything has a place and he can find some small peace in that. 

Right.

He wanders out, back into the kitchen.

“I have post-its if you want to label your stuff.”

Fjord doesn’t scream, but he does jump and clutch his chest. Nott looks him up and down from where she’s sitting on the counter by the fridge. Fjord exhales slowly. “Afternoon, Nott.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says, hopping down to the floor. She pads past him toward the hall. “Like I said, post-its.”

“It’s fine,” Fjord says. “I’ll put my name on left-overs or whatever, but I think we can just trust that if we didn’t buy something, the other must have, and respect that.”

“Sure.” Nott looks him over once more. “Caleb will be coming over tomorrow.”

It’s not really a question asking permission as much as a warning of an inevitability, but Fjord nods anyway. “Sounds good. Did you want me to make myself scarce while he’s here so you two can chat?”

“Jesus, Fjord, he’s my brother not my lover,” Nott frowns. “You can engage with him if you want to. If you don’t, feel free to go somewhere else or hang out in your room.”

“Just trying to be respectful,” Fjord says in an attempt at pacification. “He seemed pretty cool, but when he and I got to talking last night, you scurried off. I didn’t want to take up all his time if chitchat scares you away.”

“It’s nothing,” Nott says, like that’s an answer. “Be here or don’t.”

“All right...” Fjord makes himself a sandwich on the counter and pours a glass of water from the filter built into the door of the refrigerator then starts to retreats back to his room. He stops misstep, realizing he is about to be a gigantic asshole. “Wait! My apologies, I should mention one of my friends, Jess - goes by Jester - might be stopping by.”

Nott looks up at him, “Friend or ‘friend?’”

“Friend,” Fjord says firmly.

“Ok. Well. Any idea when she might be coming?”

“She, ah, she kind of just shows up, but it’ll be some time tomorrow. Knowing her, it’ll be around 9? She’s distressingly perky in the mornings.”

“Ugh, morning people,” Nott says as though she weren’t awake at the crack of dawn, same as Fjord. “As long as she doesn’t expect me to,” she shudders, “talk.”

“You’re doing a fine job of it right now.”

“Oh go drink your water,” Nott chides, but she is smiling, so Fjord counts that as a win enough for a day that started so rough. “Caleb won’t be around until the afternoon. I can “make myself scarce,” when Jester’s here if you prefer.”

“Shouldn’t be necessary,” Fjord says easily. “She’ll want to meet you, but if you’re not up to it, she’ll understand.”

Nott shrugs, then trots back toward her room. When her door closes, Fjord walks back to his own bedroom. He sets about finally finishing his night stand; then unfolds a small table for his laptop and lays a pillow on a plastic chair as a makeshift cushion for himself as he turns it on. He works his way into the afternoon checking his class schedule, triple checking his books and figuring which he can theoretically put off purchasing until after some people have had the opportunity to drop the class and return them - allowing him to scavenge them for a little discount. It’s still going to run him almost $900 right off the bat, and about $300 more on the ones he can put off. His stomach flips itself into knots over it, but he can afford it. He can. He won’t need to dip into any more of his uncle’s generosity so long as he keeps budgeting. 

This fucking _sucks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this chapter like 8,000 words, but I’m going to instead try to do my best to keep them a uniform length between 2,000 and 3,000 words long.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollymauk enters the fray. Caleb comes around again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this all written up, then I realized I should chop it down and put the stuff that happened at the end into a new chapter, but that left the second chapter sparse so I'd have to write more and- Long story short, next chapter goes up tomorrow rather than this being one really long chapter.

After a day spent grinding his teeth over things he can’t avoid, Fjord sleeps better than he expected. His dreams are muted things, more color than emotion. He suspects, on waking, that sleeping on a fitted sheet with two pillows instead of a bare mattress or the back seat of his car might possibly mean the difference between a good and bad night’s sleep. He’ll have to test the theory by sleeping in a well-made bed more often.

His phone, fully charged and kept under his pillow, buzzes enough to pull him fully out of sleep’s embrace. The sun is filtering in under the curtains. He checks his phone’s screen, blinking at it for a moment before sliding to accept the call. “You here, Jester?” he asks, phone pressed to his cheek rather than ear.

“No, I’m on my way to pick up Molly first then we’ll both be there to see you,” she says, her tone far too chipper. “That gives you like forty whole minutes to get up, comb your hipster hair, and go get donuts.”

Fjord rolls his eyes under the lids, because keeping his eyes open at 7am when he has no reason to otherwise do so is against his strict morals. “A Boston Creme, some sprinkled shits, some coffee cake things, and those apple ones, right?”

“You remembered! The Alzheimer’s isn’t progressing,” she says. The sound of her little Jeep braking is enough to make Fjord wince. “Ok, I’m going to get Molly now, get dressed and go get those donuts.”

Fjord lets the phone roll back down the pillow and onto the sheets as he rubs his eyes. He’s not groggy, per se, but he’s definitely not thrilled. The feeling fades as he forces his feet onto the floor, then his body off the bed. After a few minutes, he is once more a functional human being. Dunkin Donuts is within walking distance, so Fjord takes a few minutes to pick out his clothes. Black shorts, grey shirt, boat shoes. Good enough for company of the Mollymauk kind, given the man would have the brightest thing in the room even at the MET Gala. No sense in trying to outshine the sun.

The money he spends on donuts is admittedly an extravagance he shouldn’t really expend, but given how often Jester bought him dinner and insisted she get him some fruity something or other (that’s not fair, it was always a Trenta Iced Green Chai with 5 pumps raspberry and 2 pumps syrup) from Starbucks, he can make the sacrifice. Molly was certainly never a slacker in buying his friends shit, either. Though in the eight months he knew Molly, Fjord still didn’t know exactly what the man did from day to day, nor whether he went to the university or not. He went to classes, sure, but half the time he was modeling for the art students or going to an extracurricular. He could just as easily have wandered into the dorm and assumed some no-show’s identity. He could’ve talked his way out of it, too.

Fjord is setting the box on the kitchen table when he hears Jester’s typical knock on his door. A quick glance about doesn’t immediately reveal Nott, so he just calls out, “I think that’s Jester,” before moving to the door.

He’s just unlatched it when a blur of blue shoves in and has him in a crushing embrace. “Good morning!”

“Mornin’,” Fjord wheezes, clapping her on the back. Her dress is soft, frilly, and - of course - blue. It has a darker sash that ties off in a large bow at her back, though Fjord’s fairly certain it’s sewn on rather than something she tied herself.

“Jester, put him down before you shatter the man’s ribs,” Molly chides from behind her, sliding the door closed. “Good to see you’re awake and tragically underdressed.”

“Good to see you, too, Molly,” Fjord says, rubbing at his sides when he can take a breath again. “Welcome to my humble abode. Nott’s around here somewhere, I think?”

“Ooh, is Nott your latest lover?” Jester asks, peering about.

“Absolutely not!”

All three spin to see the small girl at the table, lifting the lid to the box with one slender finger.

“‘Absolutely, you are Nott,’ or ‘absolutely you aren’t?’” Molly smirks at her, far too pleased with himself.

“This isn’t and never will be a sexual relationship,” Nott says, staring him down.

Molly nods, “Simply curious.”

“The senselessly curious are often simple, yes,” Nott shoots back.

“Oh, I like this one,” Molly says, teeth gleaming. “You should keep her.”

Fjord sees Nott going red, and not in embarrassment, so he cuts in, “Nott, this is Mollymauk, he’s trying and failing to be charming. This is Jester, the friend I mentioned yesterday. Guys, this is Nott, my roommate. Who I need to live with for the rest of the year. Play nice.”

Jester looks Nott up and down, which is admittedly not a lengthy journey, and prances forward to offer her hand. “Good morning, would you like a donut?”

Tentatively, Nott takes Jester’s hand. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to just... go back to my room.”

“Okay, but if you want to come hang out then don’t be shy!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nott walks off, a glare over her shoulder spared for Mollymauk, who holds up a hand to wiggle his fingers at her retreat.

Fjord waits for a moment after Nott’s exit, during which Jester pushes past him to get at the pastries, before fixing Molly with a look. “Could you not pick on my roommate the day you meet her.”

“The shy ones are always so much fun once you get them mad, though,” Molly complains, shrugging out of his jacket - a stitched up thing that’s more patches and sewing thread than jacket at this point. His shirt beneath is striped in red, gold, and purple. There’s a slight raise to them, hard to see, but it could be felt if one were to put their hand against it. Fjord briefly imagines running a hand down Molly’s chest, the feel of his shirt warmed by his skin. Molly coughs, smirking.

“Just leave her alone,” Fjord says, shaking his head. Christ, that would be a disaster to act on. “Now other than harassing people who’ve done nothing to warrant it, what’ve y’all been up to?”

“Hey, I haven’t been harassing anyone!” Jester complains through a mouthful of coffee cake. “Well, not technically harassing.”

Molly laughs, “Now I’m _really_ curious. What’s technically harassing? Are we using the legal definition here?”

“Well, it started with me telling Yasha that she was really pretty while she was at the gym the other day, and she didn’t say anything so _of course_ I had to make sure she heard me, so I said it again to her. And then Beau got off her treadmill to tell me that I was being too loud and a little obnoxious or whatever, so I said to her, “Well obviously I need to be loud because Yasha isn’t saying anything, so obviously she hadn’t heard me,” and then Yasha walked away and Beau yelled at me more and we all got kicked out of the gym, the end.”

Molly shrugs, “Yasha hears you just fine, she just doesn’t like being complimented.”

“And that’s really sad because she deserves to be complimented!”

Fjord watches as they talk. He likes Yasha well enough, he can respect wanting a little distance even with your friends. Beau is a bit of a loudmouth at times, but she has some semblance of respect to her about boundaries. Beau is the biggest fucking disaster of a lesbian he’s ever met in his life, but she knows what she wants and is able to contain herself despite it. If she has to respect Yasha’s boundaries by yelling at Jester, well, the two were still friends after being roommates. They can handle each other’s shit. Fjord pulls apart a danish while Molly and Jester bicker, the subject moving from Yasha to the art classes she poses for, to the classes Molly poses for, to child psychology, to Big Pharma. Fjord participates mostly through grunts and humming. Two major extroverts at play, he feels a bit overwhelmed.

“Show us your room, Fjord!” Jester demands mid-sentence, the light of the idea crossing her eyes and driving her previous train of thought off the rails. “Have you hung up all the pictures I sent you? If you didn’t I’m going to be ma~ad.”

“They’re up,” Fjord says, leading the way. “Fair warning, I don’t have much stuff up here yet and I’d appreciate it if you let my clutter accumulate naturally.”

Jester shoves past him to open the door, taking in the rather spartan interior. “Ooh, you did hang them up! Look, Molly, it’s the one from that Hibachi place you’re not allowed at any more!”

Fjord looks it over, standing beside Molly. It is of the four of them, Beau, Jester, Molly, and himself sitting around the grill-table-counter thing where they cook all the food in front of you. Yasha had taken the picture at Jester’s request, even after the well-meaning comment about Yasha’s lack of desire to be photographed fell flat. It shows Fjord with his mouth open and his eyes crossed trying to catch a shrimp while the other three look on in amusement.

Molly comments on his lack of color coordination in the bed cover, curtains, and walls. He winks, “Though the carpet does match the drapes.”

Jester slaps Molly’s arm playfully, “Stop flirting with my husband.”

“I thought we were just lovers,” Fjord protests.

“Of course we’re married,” Jester says airily. “Then when you die of old age I get to inherit all your shit and be a rich, young, beautiful widow and find another husband that is my age so we can live happily ever after.”

“Jester, you know the state of my bank account,” Fjord says, almost irritated.

Jester pretends to mull it over, finger on her lip. “Oh yeah. Never mind, we’re divorced.”

“Well I don’t mind marrying a pauper,” Molly interjects.

Fjord raises an eyebrow, “Molly, you go through paramours faster than you go through hair gel.”

He curls his lips into a wicked grin, “I never said it had to be a _closed_ marriage.”

“Guys, no friendcest,” Jester complains. “Beau and Yasha are already proof that it’s a big Thing, capital T.”

“Beau and Yasha are a Thing for more reasons than friendcest,” Molly says, rolling his eyes.

Molly has never particularly liked Beau, to Fjord’s recollection, and Beau is rarely silent about how the feeling’s mutual. Molly is still something of an unknown, what with his air of mystery, but something about Beau rubs him the wrongest way. Given how much he tips, drops money into homeless people’s cups, and tosses coins to buskers, Fjord can take a guess at Molly’s past, but he doesn’t for all of their sake. Beau’s a good enough person, but classism runs deep in her bones. She’s never had to keep her mouth shut for fear of retribution or consequence and she doesn’t understand why someone else might have to. It doesn’t help that she’ll go from talking about how much she resents her dad to bragging about how his position on her home town’s school board got her out of more than one run in with authority.

Fjord shakes himself physically to get himself out of his head. “Enough about that, I vote for a change of subject.”

“Sure,” Jester says, “tell us about Nott! It’s only been a few days, but what is she like?”

“She’s...” Fjord thinks for a moment. “She’s quiet. We talked via email over the last few weeks after we got the apartment. It’s the newer one, obviously, and they’re trying out coed housing. She had a few ground rules - namely that I don’t walk around naked or comment on her physical appearance in any way, shape, or form.”

“That’s reasonable,” Molly muses, “though tragically unfair to her.”

“Friendcest,” Jester hisses, swatting Molly across the stomach with the back of her hand.

Fjord clears his throat. “So she’s got her preferences and I’ve got mine about running the place. No problems just yet, though if you’re gonna keep teasing her every time you come over, she’ll probably have a few problems.”

“I would never!” Jester says. “She’s just so cute looking, I could never tease her.”

“Yeah, that’s probably not gonna stick well if you tell her that, so...”

Molly shrugs, leaning against the bed, “You’re both always welcome to come by my apartment if you don’t want to bug your roommate.”

“I spent half of last year sitting out in the hall, waiting for you to finish,” Fjord says, frowning. “I think we’ll risk Nott’s temper over your tendency to strut around post-coitus.”

“Your loss,” Molly mutters, shrugging. Then louder, “I don’t know about you both, but I do have other things to do today. Would you do me the greatest kindness of driving me to the bus stop, Jester?”

Jester sighs, but agrees. Fjord walks them both back to the door, with a brief stop for Jester to snatch up the remaining donuts off the kitchen table. Molly gives him a smile and a bare pat on the shoulder as he walks out; Jester crushes him once again before dropping him breathless back to the ground and flounces out the door to catch up with Molly.

“Jester seems nice,” Nott says from the kitchen.

Fjord spins to face her. “You know you can make yourself known before you speak by entering my field of view or making some kind of noise.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Just making sure you’re doing that on purpose.”

“Listen, it’s no fault of mine that you’re not particularly perceptive,” Nott says, taking a seat with an apple. “Mollymauk is an asshole.”

“He can be, yeah,” Fjord says. “So when was Caleb coming by?”

Nott messily takes whole chunks out of the apple, speaking around thick bits, “A few hours. We might go shopping for my books if you wanted to come with. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Fjord looks down at her, “You’re sure it wouldn’t be intruding?”

“You’d be going yourself eventually,” Nott reasons. “You may as well do it today.”

There’s no fault in the logic that Fjord can figure out, so he shrugs companionably. “Okay. I’ll just work on making sure my course list is accurate. Give me a holler when he gets here, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Nott assents to it, so Fjord does just what he said he would do. It’s not too weird to accept a lift from his roommate’s brother. This is his roommate doing him a solid. He spends about twenty minutes checking his list of books and three hours reviewing his classes and making sure his scheduling is airtight. He needs to account for meals, leisure, and sleep. No winging it this year.

“FJORD!”

He jumps at Nott’s shrill cry, swinging his door open hard enough that the hinges protest. “What’s going on? You okay?”

“Caleb’s here,” Nott says at a normal pitch. The man is at her side, looming only through the grace of Nott’s stature. He has abandoned his suit for a more “business casual” sports jacket and button down without a tie. Fjord wonders if he even owns casual clothes. Probably not. Fjord can’t help but notice that even this outfit looks tailored, despite the more relaxed look. The jacket is a soft brown, probably suede or something equally expensive. And the shirt is a crisp white, buttoned all the way to Caleb’s throat. His shoes are a shiny black, with even stitching and thick rubber soles. He looks, well, he looks good. Professional. _Hot,_ his brain provides, helpfully. He shakes his head a moment, getting those fool thoughts out of his head.

“Good afternoon,” Caleb greets, stepping forward to offer his hand. He shakes it firmly. “Nott said you would be joining us for our book buying excursion?”

“If you’re fine with that,” Fjord says. “I appreciate the offer, but again, I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“What’s one more body in the car?”

Nott rolls her eyes, “Fjord, I appreciate your propriety, I really do, but if you would please just say ‘thanks’ and let us all get along with our day?”

“Thanks,” Fjord says, struggling to keep a straight face as Caleb nods and leads the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter you degenerates get the sweet, sweet Caleb and Fjord interactions that will actually get this story going.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes to the book store. As always, my opinions on the cost of education have had no influence on anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s some sweet, sweet interactions between Caleb and Fjord.

Caleb drives a BMW; which shouldn’t come as a surprise considering his profession, but Fjord remains so nonetheless. It’s a pretty, red thing that gleams like it just came off the lot. Nott, apparently unimpressed or simply accustomed to it, slides into the front seat without hesitation. Fjord takes a minute to appreciate the design, the cost of it, the status. He would be lying if he said there wasn’t any resentment in that awe. 

“This is some beauty you’ve got here,” Fjord says, hand on the back door handle. “2016?”

“2017,” Caleb corrects. It’s not a boast or a gibe, just a correction. Still, Fjord fights a frown and sits behind Nott while Caleb arranged himself in the driver’s seat. “Are you buckled in?”

“Yes sir,” Fjord says, clicking the belt over his lap and chest.

 

Caleb looks at him in the rearview mirror. “None of that,” he chides. “Call me Caleb.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Caleb,” Fjord says, grinning.

Caleb pulls out of his space, breaking eye contact to check the road. “Oh you are a shit, aren’t you? Tell me, Nott, is he like this around the apartment?”

“Not so far, no,” she says, looking out the window. “I suppose time will tell. Take a right up at the light.”

“I remember. So what books do you need, Fjord?”

“Oh, I’m just planning on getting a few today. I printed out my course load, might order a few of the ones I’ll need later or at least put them on reserve, just in case.”

“Are you unsure of some of the classes you are taking, then?” Caleb asks. He catches Fjord’s puzzled expression in the mirror at the light. He clarifies, “You are not buying them all, I thought maybe you were thinking of dropping a class?”

Fjord flushes, not quite embarrassed or angry, “Naw, it’s just more cost effective for me to wait and see what I might get used after a few weeks.”

“Ah, I see,” Caleb says, eyes returning to the road when the light changes to green. “When I went to school, I was always on the hunt for the best deal on books. The libraries never had anything I needed, and even the stores often had to place special orders for my courses. It was a real nightmare sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Fjord says.

Nott perks up, “Most of mine I could get online. Just a few were exclusive to the store.”

“Unfortunately,” Fjord says, “most of my books are either too uncommon to find anywhere helpful or the cost of shipping ruins the discount from the online purchase.”

Caleb hums in agreement, eyes flicking to the street signs every few moments. “Well, what books are you holding off on? Electives, I assume?”

“Mm, I kinda took a couple of courses I thought could be interesting. And, uh, unlikely to have a lot of textbooks. Biting me in the ass now, with the Shakespeare one requiring a specific edition with specific annotations and specific goddamn forewords for each play. I’d been hoping I could just take out each play from the library when it came up.”

“Oh, I love Shakespeare,” Caleb says. “Much Ado About Nothing, As You Like It, and - oh - the sonnets. Have you read much?”

“Er, none, actually. We had to read Romeo & Juliet in school, but that was some time ago and I think we just watched a movie of the play.”

“I’ve seen West Side Story,” Nott adds.

Caleb pulls into a space a block away from the book store, putting his car in park. “I did like that one,” he muses, stepping out onto the street. Fjord lets himself out as well, standing next to Caleb as he locks the door. “Though nothing really compares to that _venom_ of the line, “A plague on both your houses!” Mercutio, bleeding out, realizing the stupidity of the feud, the uselessness of his fervor.”

“You must think pretty highly of Shakespeare, then,” Fjord tries, matching pace behind as Nott slots herself against Caleb. 

“Oh the plays were dime store novel drivel meant to entertain as many people as possible with sex, puns, and violence, let me not be misunderstood, but my goodness they were good at what they were. My one hope for you with this class you’re taking is that the professor understand that much.”

Fjord laughs, “I never would’ve taken you for someone who thought so little of the classics.”

Nott bristles, “Because you’ve met him twice now, so you’ve developed a keen character profile, have you?”

“Nott,” Caleb admonishes softly. She grimaces, but doesn’t say anything more. “I apologize if I have come across as an entitled asshole.”

“No, no,” Fjord protests, “it was just a... a joke,” he finishes weakly. It hadn’t been, not really. Most people he knew with the kind of money to buy a high end car like that, having a job like Caleb’s. Well, they were assholes. 

Nott stomps into the store ahead of Caleb, so Fjord puts a hand up, not grabbing any part of him, but catching Caleb’s attention. “Yes?” Caleb asks, hand on the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking briefly into the store. No sign of his roommate. Ah well. “Really, Nott’s right, that was a bit of a dumb thing to say. I don’t really know you at all.”

“It was a joke, Fjord. I wasn’t offended. Nott is just... defensive, we’ll say, about how people think of me. Of her.”

“Okay,” Fjord says, because there’s not much to say to that. He nods, uncertain. Caleb does the same. After a second, Caleb finishes opening the door and gestures Fjord inside. 

The store is like any other college bookstore he’s been to, full of shelves with books labeled by subject and signs announcing which books were moved where. There is a small, rotating catalogue of non educational books and magazines as well as coloring books and over-priced colored pencils. Caleb pauses to peruse the magazines for a moment, so Fjord takes the opportunity to brush past him and start routing through the shelves for his books. 

He spots Nott once or twice, darting through the shelves, checking her list, and darting away. His own pile of books grows steadily higher, as does the bill. His heart clenches at the price of his Marine Biology text book. There are no used copies since it’s the most recent edition, and it requires both a disk and a code, like it’s 19-god damn-98 or something. Between it and his required Stats textbook, he’s already over his initial estimate on how much he was willing to spend today. It was all listed as lower on the online store; which was because that didn’t include the cost of the supplementary material, Fjord learns after asking one of the employees through an extremely tight-lipped smile. It’s not their fault the prices are absolutely ridiculous, he thinks. They’re just doing their jobs. 

“You’re going to need the supplementary workbook on top of the textbook, and the professor’s online key for this one as well,” the tall man behind the counter tells him.

“Hhgofuckyourself!” Fjord splutters. “I mean, Christ, sorry. That wasn’t fair. Didn’t mean it. Not your fault. You don’t set the prices, I get it. I know that. But you’re sure I need all that?” 

The man nods, an almost zen understanding on his broad face. “The prices are the price, as dictated by the school. I’m sorry you’re unsatisfied with our service, but such is the state of the current economic climate. If the time of payment is the only issue, however, we would be more than happy to put some on hold for you.”

“Looks like I’m going to have to do that,” Fjord grumbles. “I’ll just take the primary textbooks today, then. Let me go get the other books to put on hold if wouldn’t be a bother.”

“No trouble, sir, but so you know - we can only guarantee a hold for up to one week before they’re returned to the shelves. At the end of the week, if you still require a hold, you will have to come back - in person - and request the hold again.”

Fjord nods, still fuming, and returns to the stacks to find the damn Shakespeare plays. They’re largely untouched from the general picking-through the rest of the books seem to have experienced. It’s a matter of moments before Fjord has them, all _ten_ , plus the anthology bundled in his arms. His precarious journey back to the front desk nearly comes to a catastrophically abrupt halt when Caleb wanders into his path, nose in a paperback. Fjord manages to abort his step, foot already off the ground, with a short shout of alarm. Caleb looks up sharply, neatly folding the book over his thumb with one hand and steadying Fjord with the other. 

“My goodness,” Caleb says, short of breath. “I am so sorry there, Fjord. Do you need any help getting these to the desk?”

“Nope, naw,” Fjord says, hurrying past, not quite shrugging off the steadying hand on his shoulder. “Just another couple feet anyway.”

Caleb, to Fjord’s chagrin, follows him to the counter. He tries to ignore him as he separates his books into the pile he can afford today and the pile that will need to wait until a few weeks of budgeting his meals and tactical requests for funding from his uncle. Caleb looks over the two piles, too keen to be mere curiosity. “I had thought you were going to be putting only the Shakespeare on hold,” he says neutrally.

“Change of plans,” Fjord says, trying to keep his own tone even. There is a long pause as the man, Mr. Pumat according to his little name tag, starts to scan in his books. He moves the hold pile to his left and moves down the counter to stick his card into the chip reader. When he looks back, Caleb is stacking the plays near the register, paging through A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “Hey!”

Caleb looks over at him, still carefully placid, even as he sets the book down with clear intent to buy. “I thought on it, Fjord, and it doesn’t really make much sense to put these on hold, does it? You know, I had been meaning to read these anyway. Perhaps instead of you keeping them on hold, you could just borrow them from me until you don’t need them, then I could have them back for my own pleasure.”

“Caleb,” Fjord starts, eyes closed as he begs any higher power that might be listening for patience or just a quick death. “I don’t want your charity. You’re not buying my books for me.”

“You are right,” Caleb says, flagging down another cashier as Pumat bags Fjord’s textbooks in a complimentary, canvas drawstring backpack. A five dollar gift for his $900 purchase. “I am buying your books for me. You are welcome to borrow them. If you must take notes in them, I request that you get those little, adhesive-free notation tags that slip between the pages.”

Fjord wants to argue, he really does, but god would it be nice to take a hundred dollars off his bill. But then he’s just splitting the loan among two people rather than one, like getting a credit card to pay off another credit card. Though he isn’t likely to want to keep the plays once the course is over, and if Caleb would really just take them off his hands afterward in exchange for buying them... 

Another man, nearly identical to the first, takes Caleb at the register. Fjord does a double take, looking between the two cashiers. His Pumat speaks up, slow and precise, “My brother. One of two, that is.”

“You two are twins?” Fjord asks, fully aware of the distraction, but helpless to stop his curiosity as Caleb buys the plays. 

“Triplets! It’s a little something of a draw, ya know? Get people in for the novelty of identical triplets all working in the one book store. Oh! _Novel_ ty. Bookstore. A pun, how delightful. Anyway, that’s the long and short of it.”

Fjord pinches his brow, both at the idea of it and the meandering tone the man takes. “Yeah, real interesting.”

“It is, it is,” he says. “So if you’ll just fill out the hold slip over here, just fill in the titles, your name, your cell, and your student ID number and you’ll be all set. Thank you.”

For all the man wades through his words like a cold molasses river, his dismissal is final. He bustles off back to the stacks, leaving Fjord with a slip of paper and a pen. When Fjord looks up, Caleb is waiting by the coloring books and pencils again, the only change being a paper bag held loosely in two fingers by the string handle. Fjord makes his way up next to him, “You didn’t have- I wish y- Thanks,” he settles on, sighing. He runs a hand across the back of his head. 

“You’re quite welcome,” Caleb says, looking him in the eyes, “but do remember, they’re on loan.”

“What’s on loan?” Nott materializes on Caleb’s right, poking her head up to look Fjord in the eyes.

Fjord jerks back a step before collecting himself. “A few of my books.”

“I thought you were putting them on hold?” Nott asks, a suspicious tint to her voice.

“I was going to,” Fjord explains. “He just-“

“I decided I would like to read them when he is done,” Caleb cuts in, “so I purchased them with the intent to lend them out to him.”

Nott levels her stare at Caleb. “You bought his books.”

“I’m lending him the books I bought for myself,” Caleb says firmly.

Nott looks to the ceiling, for patience or understanding Fjord doesn’t know, but she seems to find what she’s looking for and just sighs. “Here’s your card back, Caleb, we can go.”

“Thank you, liebling. Are you finished, Fjord?”

“Yeah,” Fjord says. He follows them out, one last glance around the store. Pumat, at least he thinks it’s his Pumat, is stowing his workbooks under the counter. The books in his backpack feel somehow heavier. After a moment, he catches up to Caleb and Nott, trailing a bit further behind than necessary. The trip back consists mostly of Caleb asking after Nott’s purchases and Nott ignoring Fjord in favor of the view outside the car. When they reach the apartment, Caleb follows them to the door. 

“I have to run,” he says apologetically, looking at Nott. “We can do lunch next week? When do your classes start?”

“Monday after next,” she says, unlocking the door one handed. “How is Thursday? You’re handling the Prucine estate this week, right?”

“It shouldn’t take much of the week, I can take an extended lunch on Thursday even if it does take longer than expected.”

“Good,” Nott says, and holds the door open for Fjord. He catches her meaning, stepping inside.

Caleb coughs, holding out the bag of books. Fjord takes them, struggling not to snatch them out of his hands. He can feel the tips of his ears burning. Caleb doesn’t stop him from making a hasty retreat deeper into the apartment. Once in the safety of his room, he shelves the books along the top of the closet. They sit in an even row, titles on the spines. Fjord cross them all off his course list, as well as his major textbooks, and starts writing up yet another budget for the next week before classes start. It’s soothing, even if the subject itself isn’t. A few minutes into it, a rap at his door draws his attention. Nott leans against the frame. “You can say no.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“To Caleb,” she clarifies. “You can say no when he offers you things.”

“I did,” Fjord says, and there’s the indignity rising in his chest again. “I told him he didn’t have to do that, so if you’re-“

“I’m not saying anything except that he’s not trying to make you feel indebted to him,” Nott says. “Well, actually, I’m going to say a lot, but that’s part of it. You don’t know Caleb.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Fjord drawls.

“Oh hush and listen to me, would you?” Nott asks, face pinched in annoyance. “You don’t know Caleb. He’s a good man. He’s generous, even. Sometimes people would try to take advantage of that, and he knows that. He’s smart enough to know it, and he’s a good enough judge of character that he wouldn’t be offering to do things for someone who would take advantage, so I trust him. But he’s still my brother, so I’m telling you that you don’t have to shove it in his face each time he tries to be nice to you with the apologies and the reluctant acceptance like he’s some kind of... some kind of demon that’s keeping a tab of favors so he can come collect later. He’s not like that!”

“I didn’t say he was! Jesus, Nott, it’s just a little embarrassing to have some guy I barely know stepping in to buy me dinner or buy my books because he knows I’m fuckin _poor._ ”

Nott frowns, her whole face marred by it. “I don’t like that inflection there,” she says. “Is poor a dirty word to you? Do you think Caleb was just always rich? Do you think he didn’t work hard for what he has, Fjord?”

“Nott-“

“No, you know what, Fjord, you were right. You barely know Caleb. So, enjoy the books, I’ll be in my room. Scream if something’s on fire or you’re dying or something.”

Fjord would almost appreciate it if Nott slammed his door rather than quietly walking away, which she does. _Well shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord consults Beau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not want to be written no matter how many iterations of it I wrote, but I got it down on digital paper. I’m satisfied.

Fjord leaves Nott to her own business. She’s pissed, and even if he doesn’t know exactly why she’s so worked up, Fjord’s smart enough to avoid asking that bombshell of a question. That doesn’t leave him with much to do for the rest of the day, though. He debates calling Jester, but if he tells her about it, she’ll invite herself over. If she comes over, she’ll try to talk to Nott. Maybe she’ll improve things, maybe she’ll make it worse. It’s a coin flip. 

One Fjord isn’t willing to risk. 

He scrolls through his phone contacts and settles on the name he can rely on to give him - maybe not great advice - but advice at a healthy emotional distance. It rings twice before the rough voice on the other end picks up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Beau, it’s Fjord.”

“Yeah, I can read. What do you want?”

Fjord hesitates. “Are you busy?”

Beau sighs, “If I was busy you’d have gone to voicemail, but you know I hate phone calls, so cut to the chase.”

“Just wanted to check in, see if you were back up here yet.”

“Fjord, you’re a good friend, but when it comes to this shit, you’re a terrible liar. Jester told me she went to see you, and she definitely mentioned the whole gym incident, so you knew I was up here. What. Do. You want?”

Caught, Fjord shrugs to his empty room. “I need some advice.”

“Roommate trouble?” Beau guesses.

“Sort of, but on that note, I’d like to talk where we’re not gonna be overheard by the party involved in the need for advice.”

“You know, you could have texted me, “Let’s get coffee!” and I would have been one hundred percent down with that.”

Fjord puts a palm to his face. “True.”

“So yeah,” Beau says, “Let’s get coffee. I’ll be at the campus center in half an hour. We can go to the little cafe with the stupid French name.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah,” Beau says, apparently as a goodbye since the line clicks and Fjord’s phone beeps as soon as she finishes saying it. 

Fjord slips his shoes on and is out the door before he can overthink it. The campus center is mostly empty when he pushes through the doors, the chill of conditioned air ghosting over his skin. What people are back on campus, and that’s a fair number of them, are all probably on their own quads or apartments. The cafe is down a small ways, past a Hagen-Daz and the sub place. There are metal grates over half the food places, which won’t open for another few weeks as the demand for not-cafeteria food starts to rise. He spots Beau with her done-up undercut sitting at one of the tables outside the cafe itself, legs tucked under her in a way that looks wildly unsafe. Two styrofoam cups are in front of her and she’s twirling a little black cylinder that looks suspiciously like a telescoping baton. 

“Pretty sure those are illegal,” Fjord says in lieu of a greeting, taking a seat in front of presumably his cup.

“What is?” Beau asks, an air of confusion too thick to be genuine. She flicks the metal baton out, swishes it once, “My vape?”

“I mean like super illegal,” Fjord reiterates and pops the lid off his coffee. It’s still hot enough to be steaming. 

“Law’s pretty vague on ASPs, man,” she insists, but stows it in her bag. “Anyway, you wanted me to give you some advice or some shit.”

Fjord sighs, sips his coffee to test the sweetness, then adds a packet of sugar to it. “I might’ve been a little insensitive to my roommate and her brother.”

Beau nods, “And you’re not just apologizing because...?”

“I guess I don’t know what I should be apologizing for. Her brother’s been by a couple times and, well, he’s clearly the money type. He bought me dinner the first night he met me-“

“Okay, pause,” Beau interrupts. She sips her coffee. Takes another sip. “Okay, so. Bought _you_ dinner, or like invited you out with your roommate?”

“They we’re ordering a pizza, asked if I wanted any, and I got two meals out of it.”

“All right. Not seeing where this is going so continue.”

“So he did that, and I told him he didn’t have to, but he insisted. Found out he’s a lawyer, was fuckin partner with a firm at some point.”

“You said he’s your roommate’s /brother/? Not her father. How old’s the guy?”

“I dunno,” Fjord says. “I’d put him late thirties?”

“Okay, so the guy’s rich and smart and bought you dinner. What else?”

“Well, it felt a little weird, talking to him in person longer than I spoke to his sister that I’m living with, since she ran off when we started talking. I guess she gets bored easy with casual conversation, or something. There’s that, and today he offered to drive us both to go get our books.”

Beau grimaces in sympathy, despite the fact that her family most certainly paid for all of her books. She at least gets that owing people you don’t care for sucks. 

“We get there and I guess I gave the wrong impression. Nott yells at me for assuming Caleb’s the uh, type who appreciates the classics or something.”

“Did your tone say, ‘you’re an asshole,’ then?”

Beau would get that, Fjord’s certain. She’s nothing if not... tone deaf. That’s a little unfair. She means well when she wants to, whether her inflections portray it or not. “Something like that. So the guy’s done me two favors now and I responded by basically calling him a rich prick even if I didn’t mean that. I tried to apologize, but he brushed it off. Then, when those fuckin books ended up costing even more than I thought, I tried to put a few more on hold. He bought them.”

“He bought your books?”

“Just the plays, but still, that’s close to a hundred dollars! I don’t want to owe some stranger that much; I don’t want to owe my own family that much!”

“Damn, okay. Did you just tell him not to do that?”

“I...” Fjord frowns. “He said he was buying them for himself, but he’d lend them to me for my classes so long as I gave them back when I was done.”

“So he bought your books.”

“Yeah, but. Yes. He bought my books. I tried to say thanks, but also that I didn’t want him to. I don’t know what Nott - my roommate, N-O-double T - heard, but she basically called me out on thinking Caleb’s a rich prick when I don’t know anything about him or how he got where he is. She basically implied it was a real rags to riches thing and I basically shit all over his experiences by treating his generosity like a trap.”

“I mean, you’ve kinda got a history with that kind of thing. Looks like the whole “you don’t know how he got where he is” thing runs both ways.” Beau takes a long drink from her cup and sighs before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “So the way I see it, you’ve got three options here. One: Apologize to Nott. Tell her you’ll try to respect her brother more. Two: Apologize to her brother. If they’re that close, I’m sure he’d tell her you apologized and it might mean more to her. Three: Don’t apologize. You don’t owe her shit, my dude. If she wants to get offended on her brother’s behalf when he wasn’t bothered by it, fuckin let her. Pretty sure you’re gonna pick one or two, though.”

“I guess I just don’t have the strength of conviction you do when it comes to these kinds of things,” Fjord says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, I’ve been the bigger person plenty of times. If I did something wrong, I’ll apologize for it. I just don’t think you did anything wrong here. It sounds like you’ve just got a trigger-happy kid sister on your hands.”

Fjord considers it, but it looks like he and Beau both know he’s not going to tank his relationship with his roommate over this. “All right, I’ll think about it. How’s the Jester situation?”

“You know Jester,” Beau says. “We’re already best friends again. Yasha told me to let it go and it’s not like Jester meant anything by it.”

“So were you more upset she was making Yasha feel weird or that Jester was calling your girl pretty.”

“The former, you ass. Everyone should call Yasha pretty, if she didn’t get all weird about it. I’m not threatened by other women, Fjord. Solidarity and all that.”

“Yeah yeah,” Fjord says, draining his coffee. “Just want to make sure all my friends are good with each other.”

“I’m good with them. Well, most of them. Has Molly offered to suck your dick yet this year?”

Fjord shakes his head both in answer and exasperation. “No, Beau. That’s not happening.”

“I don’t personally like the guy, but isn’t he your type? Just let him.”

“Look, Molly’s... Molly. Just because he’s offering doesn’t mean he wants it to mean anything.”

Beau smirks, “So you want it to mean something, then?”

“Yes,” Fjord says, then glares at Beau’s growing grin. “Not with Molly! Not specifically with Molly. Stop that or your face’ll stick. It’s a moot point, Molly doesn’t want it to mean anything, I don’t want something meaningless, it’s not going to happen.”

“God you’re old,” Beau says. “You’re in college, now’s the time for meaningless sex and heavy drinking while the sun’s up.”

“You shacked up with Yasha the second you found out she was single and liked girls.”

“I also went through half the girl’s Lacrosse team in high school. The twilight of my rakish youth has come to a close. Now it’s just Yasha and hard day drinking.”

“Maybe cut down on the latter,” Fjord says.

“Will do, dad.”

“Don’t fuckin start with me, young lady,” Fjord says, by rote at this point.

“Yeah, yeah. Anywho, I’ve given you the advice I got and now I have things to see and people to do.”

“Sure,” Fjord agrees. “Thanks for the coffee and the talk.”

“I put it on your tab,” she says, walking off.

Fjord toys with the cup for a few minutes. He has his options, an outside opinion, and some caffeine to motivate him into doing something. A few more people start to file into the campus center as the dinner hours approach. He crushes the cup and tosses it into a garbage can as he makes his way out and back toward his apartment. He can apologize to Nott, but that’d mean having to apologize again to Caleb whenever he sees him next, even though Caleb hasn’t seemed to have taken offense to anything Fjord’s said. Or he could apologize to Caleb, again despite the man’s insistence that he wasn’t offended, and hope Nott hears about it. He grits his teeth in frustration. It’s not that he’s opposed to apologizing, but if he’s just doing it to keep the peace, it’ll be a pretty hollow apology. He let Nott have her piece, heard her out, internalized it. Maybe he can just do what she wants without having to pretend he knows he did something wrong here. Honestly that feels like the best option here.

He opens the door to the apartment and locks the door behind himself quietly. No sign of Nott. A quick peek down her hallway reveals a closed door and quiet music filtering through. It’s been an eventful day, maybe tensions are just a little high after Molly made his first impression. Fjord figures he’ll just let it lie.

He makes his late lunch with no intention of cooking again later, so it’s a massive endeavor of rice, chicken, and beans on various burners. He thinks he hears Nott’s door open, but he’s too busy trying not to burn himself or the food to check right away. When he does, the door is still closed. An expert cook he is not, but he’s been cooking for himself for long enough that he finds it a fine meal. Set of meals, in this case. He ate as he cooked, so now that he’s finished the cooking part, he finds he’s not actually hungry enough to want to eat it. He shrugs, not the worst problem to have, and sets to packing it up in his new Tupperware. 

Nott doesn’t make an appearance when he comes back out, a few hours later, to reheat his dinner. He doesn’t catch her outside her room during breakfast the next day, nor lunch. By the time the sky’s gone orange, Fjord is honestly a little worried. He trots over to her door, hesitant. Fuck it, he knocks. “Nott? You, uh, in there?”

After a moment of silence, he hears a chair squeal as it pushes back. “What do you want, Fjord?”

“Just checking that you’re okay. I didn’t see you all day.” He stands awkwardly at the door, unsure if he should ask to be let in. He doesn’t really want to be, anyway.

“We must just be missing each other, then,” Nott says, and her tone is hard to read without seeing her body language. Is she rolling her eyes? Is she shrugging?

“Alright...”

Nott sighs, “Just open the damn door.”

Fjord obliges. Nott is sitting on her chair, one leg up on the edge of her seat the other outstretched. She’s barefoot, wearing loose pants and a baggy tank top. He looks about her room surreptitiously, taking in the shooting range targets she has pinned to the far wall. He’s a little relieved his head hasn’t been taped over the silhouette’s. Other than the target, a few odds and ends collected in decorated boxes on shelves and her desk, and her laptop, the room is pretty sparse. “Hey,” he says in hollow greeting.

“Hey yourself,” Nott says, eyebrows raised. “As you can see, I’m fine. I can see you’re fine. What do you want, Fjord?”

“Look, I know you’re a little sour on me after the whole thing yesterday, I just wanted to say that...”

“Yes?”

“You’re. You might have gotten the wrong idea about me and I’m sorry I gave that impression,” Fjord says, stumbling along the words as he tries to arrange them in such a way that he isn’t taking the full blame for her reaction, but isn’t throwing it all back on her. It’s a mess, he can tell. “I’m thankful for what your brother did for me, I’m sorry if you thought I wasn’t. I’m not really used to, you know, no strings attached.”

“If Caleb was offended, we would be having a very different conversation. I know you might not have meant much by it, but he’s a good man,” Nott says, anger present, but not at the forefront. “He works hard and he deserves better than your assumptions. He might tolerate that, but I won’t. Get to know him, if you really want to apologize. He’ll be around often enough.”

“I can see this means a lot to you,” Fjord says. “I’ll do better. I’ll make this work.”

“Thank you.”

“If I could just ask one thing?”

Nott looks him over, suspicious, but concedes, “What is it?”

“I’ll try to be better about not making assumptions, but if I’m gonna do that, I need Caleb to be the one to tell me if I messed up. If you could just... let Caleb be the one to tell me before you come running to his aid?”

Nott sniffs, “I can try.”

“Well then we can both make this work,” Fjord says, smiling with a grin that comes only from painstaking orthodontics and fervent dental hygiene. Nott gives him a half-smile, but ushers him out of her space soon thereafter. Still, he feels accomplished. Adult, even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much of a cliffhanger, but with this out of the way, the next chapter started coming much easier.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord does some reading while Caleb provides some context, summation, and double entendre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came way easier, not in the least because I got to use all my useless Shakespeare knowledge and passion.

The days go by quickly, with Jester stopping by to keep him out of his head for a bit every so often. She brings him pieces of art, mostly ink sketches she has drawn or photographs she’s taken off her Facebook and printed on photo paper. They help make his room feel a little less empty, a little more like he has a life outside the bed, his textbooks, and the laptop that reminds him of everything he needs to pay off. Molly pointedly doesn’t show up at his apartment, even, Jester pouts, when she asked him to go with her. He had said it would be better for all their sakes if he waits until he has more of a reason to show up. It would keep him from getting bored and needling Nott. Fjord accepts even this small bit of sense from Molly. 

Beau tries to come up with an excuse for why she doesn’t want to visit Fjord at the apartment for all of three sentences before she goes with, “I don’t want to.” Fjord couldn’t say if she doesn’t want to be in the middle of whatever tension he had with Nott, even though he told her they were cool now, or if she just doesn’t feel like running all the way over to his side of the campus. Fjord had originally assumed Beau was like more Freshmen the previous year and wasn’t allowed to have a car, but he quickly learned Beau just didn’t know how to drive. He offered to teach her late the previous semester, but she’d shown no actual interest so he let it go. Fjord also can’t justify spending the gas to go pick her up and bring her back just to drop her off an hour or two later when she gets restless. 

Yasha is polite in her refusal to come to his apartment to hang out, but it’s also nonnegotiable. She hangs out with Molly alone, and she will go on the occasional date with Beau. She is extremely solitary outside gatherings of three or more and Fjord can’t really fault her for it. Everyone has their hang-ups. 

That leaves him with Nott, who typically spends her time sequestered in her room or reading a book on the couch. She claims the main area has better lighting, though Fjord can’t really tell from his singular view into her room whether that’s true. Still, she doesn’t mind Fjord reading in the room while she does the same, answering the occasional question about her book’s content or casual conversation about recent news. He learns bits and pieces about her life and what she’s doing at the college. 

She’s a very good markswoman, and she’s looking forward to being able to get back to the range once classes start up and she can pencil it in around studying. Caleb had bought her her first gun, an HK V something, after she had been granted a target license and passed the appropriate courses. Fjord was initially discomforted with the idea of there being a gun in the apartment, which got him mocked viciously courtesy his accent and hen state, but she assured him that her gun is kept at the range. She doesn’t have a concealed carry license and the campus is gun-free besides. Fjord is honestly a little lost in her descriptions of her firearm training and capacity, since his deepest exposure has been primarily through video games and assorted “guy talk” among the other fishermen back home. Pistols aren’t the talk of the town where he’s from. 

Nott informs him that she’s studying criminal justice, though she isn’t certain where she wants to go with it yet. Law enforcement is her ideal, but with the state of things and, with her own meandering admission, her stature - it’s a bit muddy. Caleb has been pushing her to try for a law degree, but Nott gets antsy when Fjord questions her on why she’s so against it so he drops the subject. Fjord doesn’t mind the occasional question about his own life, but he dodges most of her questions about his family. He’s not... ashamed of his orphan status, but he’s more than finished with the change in tone people take when they first hear about it. 

It’s Thursday and Nott has gone out to dinner with Caleb, so Fjord is reading at the kitchen table just to have a bit of a lead on his classes. He’s skimmed _The Taming of the Shrew_ , but it seems a little... discomforting in a modern lens, so he moves to the sonnets. Looking at them, he can’t make head or tail of them. They’re love letters, obviously, but the wording, the formatting; it’s needlessly complicated in a way that has Fjord trying too hard to understand the words and in the process lose the meaning.

He’s still on the first sonnet, trying to pull greater meaning from churl and look at the word “niggarding” without flinching, when Nott let’s herself and Caleb in. It’s not quite nine and Fjord had honestly hoped to have a bit more time in the open space of the kitchen before retreating back into his room. Ah well. 

“Welcome back,” he says to Nott, who waves, but says nothing as she walks over to the couch. 

“Hello, Fjord,” Caleb says, removing his shoes in the hallway. 

“Evenin’, Caleb,” Fjord responds, frowning at the sonnet before starting to pile the books up. 

Caleb steps over to the table to look at the covers. “You don’t need to pack up your stuff, I wasn’t planning to stay long,” he says, but hesitates when he peers over the book Fjord hasn’t stacked. “Oh, the sonnets! I do love those. They are very different from the plays.”

“I’ll say,” Fjord mutters.

Caleb gives him a look, it’s hard to decipher. Like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how it will be received. Fjord raises a brow, so Caleb shrugs. “I was merely wondering if you were having difficulties with them?”

“A bit,” Fjord sighs. “I only read the first one and it’s a bit heavy. A lot of words that don’t really help me get the point. Well, I get it. The writer is telling his lover that he’s... wasting his life?”

“Would you mind terribly if I took a look at it to refresh myself?” Caleb asks, then looks over to Nott. “Meine Schwesterhertz,” he calls, clearly something he uses to get her attention regularly, “I’m going to stay a bit to be nosy with your roommate’s reading.”

Nott looks up, “Fine fine, whatever you want to do, but don’t get caught up in it and forget you have a meeting with the Prucine people in the morning. I’m going to bed in a minute.”

“Yes, thank you,” Caleb says, then turns back to the book. “Sorry, Fjord, may I take a look?”

“Sure,” he says, and opens it to the first one. He offers the chair next to him, though Caleb seems content to stand. “I think it’s the lack of modern translation that’s really mucking me up.”

“A moment to read,” Caleb requests, quickly scanning the page. “Yes, I remember this one. There are people who will argue all sorts of things about it, about who the real life parallels are, about whether these were meant to be written from the perspective of a woman.”

“Sounds to me like the latter are just trying to resist the whole ‘gay Shakespeare’ thing.”

“Perhaps, but few ideas are wholly without merit,” Caleb says. “So what is giving you the most trouble?”

“Uh, I suppose it’s the phrasing. Poetry is a bit weird for me. It’s like you’re taking a story then twisting it all up just to make it look nice. Seems a bit to me like gilding the lily, if the compliments are worth a damn to start.”

Caleb opens his mouth, then closes it with a smile. “You are right, to an extent. I personally can find a beauty unique to poetry, but you needn’t also. If it would make it easier for you, we can go over the lines two by two. The first pair here, 

“From fairest creatures we desire increase,  
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die.”

That means what to you?”

Fjord reads it as Caleb speaks them aloud. “Well, I suppose he’s saying we want a lot of beauty in our lives so we don’t have to face it when we lose some.”

“That’s an interpretation,” Caleb says in what Fjord hears as an extremely polite dismissal. “I’ve taken it to mean something else, though I have the benefit of having read all the sonnets for context. The poet says, in my translation, we desire an increase in the number of good creatures so that they will never truly die off. Knowing this is, essentially, a love letter, the poet is telling the receiver that they should have a child. This is supported in the next lines:  
“But as the riper should by time decease,  
His tender heir might bear his memory.”  
The writer is encouraging the receiver to have a child and continue, in some fashion, after his own demise.”

Fjord looks it over, mulling it in his head. “That’s, uh, a bit weird for someone to be telling a person they’re trying to woo.”

“Who says they are trying to woo them? They are love letters, yes, but there are many types of love,” Caleb says, and apparently the angle of his back over the table has finally kicked in because he takes the proffered seat beside Fjord. “You are assuming the writer is setting out to woo the reader, and maybe that is what makes it hard to unpack this sonnet.”

“Well he’s calling the guy beautiful and sweet, it’s pretty clear his feelings for the reader aren’t brotherly.”

“Yes, but have you never had a crush on someone you couldn’t have? Unrequited, as it goes. You don’t hate them for not loving you the way you love them, not ideally,” Caleb says, then points to the rest of the sonnet. “Here, look at the imagery. The world’s freshest ornament, herald to gaudy spring. The subject is young, or at least younger than the writer. Tender, bud. These are all words suggesting youth and innocence. I believe, at least, that this is a dedication to unrequited love and so the writer wishes that the subject would ensure he has an heir.”

“So he’s telling the guy to find a wife, because he can’t have him?”

“I believe so, yes,” Caleb says. “He’s accusing the subject of selfishness, or niggarding as was the-“

“Excuse me, what?” Nott chimes in from the couch, suddenly sitting up. 

“Niggarding,” Caleb says carefully, over-pronouncing it. “A term that is entirely different from the word you might think it relates to, which is partially why it fell out of use. It means miserly or selfish.”

Nott shakes her head. “Interesting, really, but I think that’s enough Shakespeare for me tonight. Completely unrelated. Get to bed at a reasonable time, Cay.”

“All right,” Caleb says, but he’s frowning.

“Good night,” Fjord says, giving her a wave as she trots off toward her room, her book tucked under her arm. Fjord turns back to Caleb, “So, uncomfortable homophones aside, you were saying something about selfishness?”

Caleb shakes himself, “Yes, of course. Sorry. The writer is calling the object of his affections selfish for his lack of commitment to a wife. He is too beautiful, too loved for him to allow his line to end. This word, “makest,” it is perhaps causing you trouble as well. The -est used in Ye Olde English, it is not just a quirk of the language, for renaissance actors to use indiscriminately. It is the second-person singular, in this case meaning “you make.””

Fjord interrupts, “That wasn’t given me all that much trouble. Are you alright? You’re talking a bit fast.”

Caleb looks toward Nott’s room. “I apologize, Nott is clearly uncomfortable and I am becoming distracted. She says she wants me to be more sociable, but when I do, she gets like this.”

“Bit of a mixed signal,” Fjord agrees, lowering his voice just a bit. Nothing gives away that you’re talking about someone like a whisper. “She cares about you, though, and I know you know her way better than I do, but it seems to me she’s just not great at following her own advice here. Her social skills seem a little, uh, unpolished.”

“We are very similar in that regard, I just have practice and an unhealthy ability to fake it.” Caleb blinks a few times. “I am perhaps over sharing. I offer to help with Shakespeare and here I am unloading my anxiety onto you like you care a lick about them.”

“It’s fine...”

“It is not, but thank you for your considerate response. Now, the sonnets. As I said, I do enjoy them a bit more than the plays and as such I have an embarrassing amount of thoughts on them. Please tell me to shut up when you have heard enough.”

Fjord smiles wryly, “You’re gonna make me sound like a genius when I parrot your words back to the professor, so please, gush away.”

“Shakespeare loved puns, you see, and almost all his prominent word choices have a double meaning. He used remarkably few sexual innuendos here, but my favorite is the line, “... within thine own bud buriest thy content...” Written as it is, you can either pronounce it as contentment - he is going to die and take with him his happiness. Or he is referring to the contents of his being - with all the references to procreation, content is referring to his semen and the bud to his clenched fist.”

Fjord barks a laugh, both at the line and the way Caleb blushes in his excitable explanation. “That’s an interesting reading of the line.”

“The others are not nearly so dirty. “Tender heir” is the other big one, if only because it requires a bilingual to get it. In Latin, “mulier” means wife while “mollis aer” means literally tender air, as in wind. He would require a wife to bear his memory in the form of a child.”

“Jesus, Caleb, you’re smart as a tack.”

Caleb’s blush deepens. “I learned all this from other people,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “All I had to do was remember it.”

“That’s no small feat,” Fjord protests. “Give yourself some credit here.”

“You are very kind, Fjord,” Caleb says with some finality. “I would love to stay up with you, pointing out all the sex puns and double entendres, but I should be heading out. Let me know if you have any trouble with the class and I could be more useful. Until then, I should be going.”

“Really, Caleb, you’re doing me a huge favor just by giving me some stuff to talk about in class. I heard this professor is real big on class discussion.”

Caleb lowers his head, “You are very welcome then. I’m going to just. I will be going. Good night, Fjord.”

“Night,” Fjord says, and sits patiently as Caleb lets himself out after stomping into his shoes ungracefully. He waits a few minutes after the door closes before moving to lock it, just in case Caleb had forgotten something. It’s only a little before ten, but with a new view on the sonnet, he has a lot to unpack mentally. Fjord gives Nott’s door a last glance before retreating back into his own room, books piled in his arms, his page in the sonnets marked with a pen between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I argued my case for that masturbation pun in class for several minutes; the crux of my argument for, “did Shakespeare intend to make a comment about the subject of the sonnet jacking off instead of finding a wife?” being “have you ever read a goddamn Shakespeare play?” That dude loved his masturbation jokes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of classes, mostly set-up. First real interaction with Yasha!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish more was happening this chapter, but you can’t have drama in all of them!

Classes start on Monday, with English 201: Shakespeare Plays and Sonnets at 8am to 9:30am. The professor is there early, which surprises Fjord a little. He’s been under the impression that most professors show up just before the class is due to begin, if not later. Other students file in as the clock ticks closer to 8, some a bit after. The tables are set into a single, U-shaped unit away from the professor’s desk. She explains, once she’s done roll-call, that the arrangement is to better allow everyone to see the speaker when they move to the discussion section of the class period. Fjord’s never had much of an issue with public speaking, but having to argue an interpretation is a fair bit different. His ability to bullshit has yet to fail him, though, literally or figuratively. 

He takes a seat directly across from the professor’s desk in something of a power play. He knows everyone else, who’re less inclined to speak, would pick a seat further out of the professor’s view. Knowing that, the professor might be looking for those people rather than the one who picked the central spot. He’s not a gambling man, but he does gamble.

The professor dispenses a physical copy of the reading list, the order they are to read them, and the passwords for the online forum she has set up for out of class discussion. She mentions that while it isn’t graded, she does recommend taking advantage of the forums for when someone gets stuck or needs an idea for an essay. And there will be essays, she reminds them. 

Fjord’s not overly concerned with the class. Their first assigned reading will be “As You Like It,” which, from what the professor and the back of the book say, is one of the more critically divisive plays. The professional critics consider it to be one of Shakespeare’s worst, while audiences love it. Fjord sees the humor in the title, given the controversy. Still, the class will need to have read it, formed an opinion of it, and be ready to discuss it within two weeks. They’re dismissed twenty minutes early.

It gives Fjord a chance to scout out his next class. Statistics is in the Mathematics building across the campus, past the large central fountain. It’s supposed to start at 10am and run til 10:45. Normally Fjord isn’t big on snacking in the morning, but he has more than half an hour before class starts and he’s already in the Math building, so he takes a quick detour into the basement tunnels for a stop by the vending machines. They take Campus Cash, and it rolls over from semester to semester, so he might as well blow some of it on a granola bar. He had $100 in Campus Cash at the start of last semester, then won another hundred in one of the block party raffles on the quad, and ended the semester with $123.50 because he could only use the damn “cash” on vending machines and overpriced university merchandise. So he doesn’t feel even a little bad dropping three dollars on a chalky granola bar and a water bottle. 

Statistics ends up being twenty minutes of the professor introducing himself and twenty minutes of making sure everyone knows that this is a 200 level math class, so they are expected to have at least a 100 level understanding of mathematics - whatever that means. Overall, Fjord is feeling pretty good about being able to pass the class if the professor is so worried about everyone having the literal basics of addition, subtraction, division, and multiplication. He’s less than thrilled that he’s spending money on these introduction classes rather than being taught anything, but he survived two semesters already, so there’s no sense complaining about it now. 

After that, Fjord is feeling the start of hunger rolling in his stomach. He promised to get lunch with Jester in her dining hall, but that’s not for another hour. When Fjord exits the Mathematics building, he can see the podium is getting crowded as more students mill about, either looking for their next class or just leaving their previous ones. He doesn’t relish having to push past so many people. After taking a steadying breath, he finds the need to go meandering about is unnecessary. Yasha isn’t the biggest woman he has ever met, but she has by far the largest presence about her. She’s more thickly built than Fjord and most other men he knows, and she uses that build of hers to cut through the crowd with relative ease. Fjord darts down the stairs and falls into step beside her as she passes by him, staring ahead. 

“Yasha!” He calls, taking a half a step ahead of her so she can see him. She startles for a moment, heterochromatic eyes darting to his. He smiles gently, “Saw you heading by, how’re you doing?”

Her pace doesn’t slow, but she divides her attention between the path ahead and Fjord, which is about as much as he could’ve hoped for, honestly. “Oh, just getting to the Fine Arts building for the introduction. Need to get that over with. You?”

“Killing time ‘fore Jester wanted to get lunch,” Fjord says. He looks Yasha over and notices she’s wearing relatively loose clothing compared to her usual garb. Her canvas bag is strung across her back, a bulky heft to it. “When you say introduction...?”

“This new woman, the professor, she wants to introduce her class to the models before she has them draw. She wants me to wear... leotards.” She lifts the hem of her shirt to show the skin-tight cloth beneath it. 

“Don’t you usually pose nude?” 

Yasha nods, curt. “I do not like the leotard.”

Fjord tries to keep his voice neutral as he asks, “Wouldn’t having clothes on be... more comfortable than none when people are drawing you?”

“No,” Yasha says, her jaw set. “Being naked is natural, it is art. This removes that. It makes me a- a person posing, not an anatomy to be studied and put on paper. It’s pornographic.”

“Are you gonna bring that up with your... professor? Boss?”

“I must defer to her judgment,” Yasha grouses, “but I will tell her this will have an effect on my comfort. I cannot lose this job.”

Fjord nods along. It’s a shit situation to be in. Their pace is slightly faster than ‘mall-walking,’ so they are quickly approaching the Fine Arts building. “I’m sorry you’re having a time like this.”

“It will pass,” Yasha says. “Enjoy your lunch with Jester. She invited me to a start of the year party this weekend. At the Marriott across the road from the Eastern entrance. If Molly is going, I will see you there?”

Fjord takes a second to parse the statement from the question. He’s reasonably certain he has it right. “Yeah, it’d be nice to hang out with you two. I’m a little old for it, but I can handle a little hotel room party. I hope Molly can make it, so you won’t have to disappoint Jester.”

Yasha starts up the short stairway to the Fine Arts building, pausing at the first landing. “I will tell Molly to not be so flirty, this time.”

Fjord flushes, “It’s alright. Really, you don’t have to tell him anything.”

“It will be for all our sakes.”

Fjord watches the doors close behind her as Yasha is quickly obscured by a crowd of students with their portfolio cases and supply bags. He looks over his shoulder toward Jester’s quad, gauging how much of a trek it will be to get there overland versus taking the tunnels. He elects to soak up some sun in preparation for the cloudy late autumn to come. 

Jester texts him ten minutes before he’s due to meet her,  
“Fjord u r getting lunch w me @ 12 don’t forget”  
Then she sends another a few moments later,  
“I’m sorry that was insensitive to ur Alzheimer’s”

Fjord sighs, tapping the automated, “On my way!” that pops up under the suggested responses. He gets another text that consists of several sparkle-heart emojis. When he walks through the main hall of Jester’s building, she’s waiting at the stairs that lead down to the cafeteria. He accepts her bone crushing embrace with stoic grace, biting down on a grunt. “Afternoon, Jess.”

“Fjord, you made it! You found your way here on time and without forgetting,” Jester says. Her excited lilt has Fjord rolling his eyes. She smiles cheekily at him, “You never know when people get to your age.”

“Thanks for the affirmation. Can we get some proper lunch?” Fjord asks, holding a hand toward the stairs.

Jester takes his hand in hers and leads him down. She holds her student ID out for the woman at the register to scan, telling her she’s bringing a guest down with her. Well, she says, “I’m bringing my _gueeeest_ ,” while squeezing Fjord’s hand and slotting herself against his side. The woman smiles at the pair of them, running Jester’s card through and handing it back to her. Jester waves cheerily with her free hand and nearly pulls Fjord down the stairs as she runs into the cafeteria.

Fjord grabs a plate and loads it up at the salad bar with a smattering of lettuce and greens before piling on shredded deli meat and cheese. He looks up once he’s finished, looking for the shock of blue that would signal Jester’s location. Unfortunately, this is a liberal college and blue hair isn’t as rare as he’s generally used to, so it takes him a minute or two. Jester has a table near the window that looks out onto the rolling, grassy hills that lead to the Eastern entrance to campus. Her own plate has a small pile of macaroni and cheese, then she has a second, much larger plate with two cookies, a chocolate chip muffin, a banana, a brownie, and a swirl of vanilla soft-serve. Fjord makes it a point to never comment on Jester’s sugar-and-carbs diet, but he has his reservations about it all the same.

“Sooo, Fjord,” Jester says after he sits across from her. “I have a question.”

“Is it about the party?”

Jester frowns, “Who told you?”

“Yasha,” Fjord admits, “I saw her just a few minutes ago. She said she would come if Molly was going.”

“Oh. Well I was really hoping I would be the first one to ask you since it’s my party, but okay, that’s fine.” Jester looks over to meet Fjord’s eyes. “Are you going to come, though? I know you were busy being old or whatever a lot last year, but it’s the start of a new year right now, you can’t have much homework yet.”

Fjord sighs, resigning himself even as he asks, “When is it?”

“Saturday night, because Beau has to do her wrestling thing on Friday night.”

“Pretty sure that’s bojutsu, and I’m about half convinced she only does it because it has “bo” in the name.” Fjord shrugs, “I can do Saturday, though. Seven?”

“Ya,” Jester says, pausing to drink her milk through a straw. “Did you want to invite Nott?”

“Uh,” Fjord says, hesitant. “I could.”

“You should! Tell her she should come and hang out with you so you can be friends and we can be friends. Okay, Fjord?”

“I really don’t know if that’s a great idea,” Fjord says, but he can tell Jester knows he’s given in.

“It doesn’t hurt to ask!”

Fjord sucks in a breath, holds it a moment, then exhales an, “Okay.”

“Hooray!” Jester digs fully into her dessert, demolishing the pastries between prodding questions about Fjord’s classes, when his free times are, whether he’s considered growing his hair out more... It’s a miracle Fjord manages to eat as much as he does, given how much he needs to answer. As time slips closer to his next class, he excuses himself from lunch. Jester follows him, politely dropping their dishes off on the way out with a kind word to the people in the kitchens accepting their plates. She waves goodbye to the woman at the register, skipping up the steps as Fjord takes them two at a time to match her. Jester stops at the entry to the quad, “Remember, Saturday at seven. Bring Nott. Okay?”

“I’ll ask if Nott wants to come,” Fjord amends gently. He waits for Jester’s acknowledging nod and gives her a big smile before he takes his leave while she heads back to her dorm. His third and final class of the day is his Marine Biology class in the Earth Sciences building, so he has to hoof it back to the podium to make it on time. He set his schedule to always be done by 4pm, mostly because he likes to have a strict schedule for when he gets to bed, but also because he’s more of a morning person. 

The professor walks in right on time, turning on the projector at the front of the room to run them all through the course syllabus and explain their expectations. They’ll have lab hours and essays and online exams. Despite being what Fjord considers to be his most difficult class, it’s the one that comes to him the most naturally. He did well in high school, took all the earth science classes, chemistry, biology. He was good at them, when he put his head into it. Then the professor mentions there will be necessary databases that will require a subscription for the semester. It’s going to cost him another $60 a month to have access to these databases, but a few are free so long as he can prove his student status. Perfect, another secondary cost. He’s working his way half past pissed when the class does end, and he shoulders his way out rougher than he needs to, but he’s too worked up to care overmuch. 

The walk back to his apartment is uneventful. He smolders to himself as he lets himself in with the key, grunts a greeting to Nott when he sees her at the kitchen sink.

“Hello to you, too,” she says, frowning at him.

“What?”

She juts her jaw out, tugging her face into an exaggerated grimace, “Grrr, I’m Fjord and I’m big and mad and can’t say hello or have a human conversation because I’m too mad.”

He rolls his eyes, still pissed, but he lets it go some. “Hello, Nott,” he tries.

“Hi, Fjord,” Nott returns, in a cheery falsetto, “did you have a tough day with your classes?”

“You know, I did,” Fjord says with a thick layer of forced enthusiasm. “Found out there’re still more things I gotta damn well buy. But enough about little ol’ me, how’re you this fine evenin’?”

“Just dandy, Fjord, and boy am I sad to hear your day ended poorly. Hopefully tomorrow will be all sunshine and daisies!”

Fjord snorts, “Alright, enough of that. Thanks,” he says, earnest.

“Don’t mention it,” she says, turning back to her cooking.

Fjord rubs the back of his head, “My day wasn’t all shit, though. Met up with Jester for lunch.”

“She seemed nice, last time she was here.”

“Yeah, she is. She’s also throwing a little, uh, get together on Saturday over at the hotel?”

Nott looks up at Fjord, big, green eyes studying him. “Okay... have fun?”

“Well, she wanted me to tell you that you’re welcome to come, if you were so inclined.”

Nott thinks for a moment, eyes flicking to Fjord then away. “No.”

“All right,” Fjord says, turning toward his room. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

Nott hums noncommittally and sets to making her dinner. Fjord elects to leave her to it, texting Nott’s answer to Jester. A few moments later he gets a text reading, “Noooooo :( Okay :(:(:(“

He sighs, but sets to his studying for the weeks to come. It always starts light and easy so Fjord figures he better get into the habit while he’s fresh. He works through the evening into the dark of night before making his dinner, taking a shower, and going to bed.. His thoughts are buzzing with the ever present anxiety he’s come to know, but it’s bearable. He has a lot going for him right now. No reason to be stressed. God, he’s still stressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this the necessary spring board for a more eventful story going forward.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a party, drinking, and a rousing game of Truth or Dare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the shit that happens at the party comes from close experiences of tiny hotel parties I or my friends had in college. They seem like fun, and they are fun, but they’re also pretty lame. Warnings for underaged drinking, uncomfortable sexual tension, and Molly being kind of a jerk.

The first week passes faster than Fjord imagines it should. It helps that each professor seems to be under the impression that nobody wants to be in class, allowing them large gaps for “class discussion” that inevitably devolves into checking phones and doodling in notebooks rather than actually reading or talking about course material. The exception is his Marine Biology class where everyone, including the professor, seems to be on the same page. They’re here for an education and they’re damn well going to get one.

It’s fascinating to Fjord that they’re still learning about new species that live in the ocean. They’re out there exploring space for signs of intelligent life when it could be in their own oceans; entire species of creatures so alien in thought and form from human beings that it’s fully possible they’ve been in the sunless depths with no way of reaching the surface. It’s haunting, really.

The odds of there being truly sentient life down there is slim, though, and he’s more concerned with the idea of the species humans do know about being eradicated by human influence. There have been all sorts of environmental disasters in the past hundred years, decimation of sea habitats. Fjord’s uncle, distant as he might be on the best days, always did encourage Fjord’s interest in environmentalism. Told him to pay attention, to watch the news, to appreciate the ocean as the limited resource it really is. He might not care much for his employees, but his uncle firmly cares for the ocean. It’s his livelihood, and he expects it to be Fjord’s as well. 

It’s Saturday morning and Fjord is nose deep in the M. Bio textbook, reading the chapter on using environment rather than taxonomy for the study of ocean life. It’s a bit of a jarring transition from his Biology background, but he’ll get it down eventually. He’s a quick study. Nott walks by, allowing her sandals to slap against the linoleum in a concession she’s made to alert Fjord to her presence.

“Good morning,” she says, voice made rougher by sleep. 

“Mornin’,” Fjord answers. He watches her take the jug of orange juice from the fridge, take a moment to side-eye him observing her, then choose to take a glass from the cabinet. He appreciates her restraint.

After draining her glass and filling it again, she says, “That party is tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” Fjord says, “did you change your mind about going?”

“Er, no, I don’t think so. Caleb is free tonight, though, and he says he could come over. He wants to know if that is alright with you.”

“Sure?” Fjord says, raising an eyebrow.

“You won’t be here,” she explains. “Caleb is... he says this is your home, too, and he wants you to have a say in who is in your space when you aren’t here.”

Fjord frowns in confusion, “Listen, Nott, you can have whoever you want over when I’m not here as long as they’re not poking through my stuff or stealing anything. A heads up is all I need. Do... you want a say in who’s over when you’re not here? I’d let you know they were coming, but I’m pretty used to Jester and the rest being around pretty often.”

“This is a purely Caleb thing,” Nott says, already finishing her second cup of juice. “He’s a bit weird about space. Shared space. Personal space. Outer space, too, but that’s a bit more existential than neurotic. What I mean is, you can have your girlfriend or your boyfriend or whoever over as long as they’re not in my room or bathroom. If you absolutely, positively _need_ to use my bathroom, then just make sure I won’t notice. I don’t want any... any boy stuff in there.”

“You know us boys, just pissing all over the floor and whacking one off into the sink,” Fjord says, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re all gross,” Nott protests, “you can’t tell me you aren’t. Just clean up after yourself in there.”

“You’ve got it,” Fjord promises.

“I’ll know if you don’t make extra sure to be clean, I’m an excellent detective on that sort of thing. One hair on the counter, I’ll find it.”

“I swear, on the off chance I need to use your bathroom, I will scrub it clean.”

“Good.” Nott washes the glass out in the sink and sets it upside down on the drying rack. “When will you be back tonight?”

“Late, most likely. It starts at seven, probably gonna have a drink or two and head home. We mostly just hang out and talk while enjoying Jester’s mom’s credit card buying us a night in a hotel. Nothing crazy.”

“No orgies, then? Isn’t that the point of a college experience?”

“I’m sure if you asked Molly real polite he’d-“

“Molly is an asshole,” Nott says, frowning. 

Fjord nods, “Fair.”

...

That evening, Fjord arrives at the Marriott on foot, hoping to jog off the incoming empty calories from the beer. He sees Jester at the archway standing beside Molly, who waves to Fjord as he approaches. Jester hands Molly a long, black pen, which lights up purple at the end as he takes a pull from it, and dashes to meet Fjord with an embrace. “You made it!”

“I literally just texted you that I was almost here,” Fjord says, good-natured but exasperated. 

“Still, you made it! Molly’s here, Beau is already upstairs with the _beer_ ,” she says, lowering her voice to a stage whisper for the last word. As though nobody knows what they’re doing here. As though she weren’t the only one who’s under twenty-one, and also the only one not drinking. Well, he thinks she’s the only one underaged. Molly’s never given up how old he is, despite numerous attempts at wrestling it out of him. 

Fjord holds up his backpack, “I’ve got some actual liquor if anyone’s interested. I also wrangled some snacks so Beau doesn’t throw up this time.”

Jester makes a face, “Ya, that was gross.”

Molly blows a cloud of vapor out the side of his mouth, clicks the side of the pen a few times, and stows it in one of his many, many pockets. “You two can head up, make sure our dear friend Beau hasn’t started hitting the bottles just yet. I’ll wait for Yasha.”

“But I wanted to be here when Yasha showed up,” Jester pouts.

“You’ll see her when we get up to the room,” Molly says, giving them both a dismissive wave. “Go, she should be here soon.”

Fjord puts a hand on Jester’s shoulder, playfully spinning her around so they can walk through the doors together. Her dismay at not being allowed to greet Yasha first thing dissipates quickly as she starts telling him about the different things they can do tonight.

“We have some food, and some music, and board games, and,” she drops her voice, “ _porn._.”

Fjord sighs, “Which soft core porn parody is it this time?”

“I was at the mall the other day and the video store has this whole section of videos where they’re not allowed to show the covers, so I was moving them all around and I found this really, really funny one. It’s The Jersey Shore!”

“Christ,” Fjord laughs, “do we have to watch it?”

“Yes.”

It’s decided then. The watching of shitty, unlicensed porn parodies became a tradition after Jester found a copy of the Duck Dynasty Gay Porn Parody in the Goodwill the previous year, much to Fjord’s chagrin. They mostly leave them to   
play in the background while they drink and play Cards Against Humanity, but occasionally they make a drinking game out of it. Drink whenever they’re clearly dry humping rather than actually having sex, drink when someone says it’s their first time only to be completely shaved or trimmed, drink whenever the bouncy music starts to play despite the scene being otherwise innocuous. The rules increase as the movie goes on until they’re all basically chugging. 

Not tonight, though, not for Fjord. He had said he was only going to have a few drinks then walk home. That’s the plan, that’s what he’ll do.

Beau throws Fjord a salute from the floor when Jester swings the door to their suite open. She’s already spread out a half dozen cups across the tiny corner table, the mini fridge is open with various bottles stowed inside. Fjord sets his bag of goodies on the night stand and kicks his shoes off beside the bed before sprawling down it. He rests his chin off the foot of the bed, just beside where Beau’s reclining against the box spring, elbows spread out. “Evenin’,” he says.

“Yasha on her way up?” Beau asks, popping the lid off a bottle by twisting it into her forearm. 

“Yeah, Molly’s waiting for her. How do you do that?”

“Step one, be cool. You’ve failed step one,” Beau says, draining the bottle. 

Fjord rolls his eyes, reaching past her for a bottle of his own, which he opens with the bottle opener on his keychain. Drinking while laying belly-down isn’t easy, but it’s a matter of pride that he not find an easier position. “I brought a thing of rum, go easy on it, would you?”

“And I brought the coke,” Jester cuts in. She brandishes a pair of two-liters, loosely shaking them. 

Beau looks to her, then the bottles, then back to her. “You’re only drinking the coke, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah,” Jester says, dropping them on the dresser beside the television. “You can mix stuff, though, if you want.”

“You’re nineteen, Jester, you can have a fucking drink,” Beau groans, but Fjord puts a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off, “Yeah yeah, her choice, whatever, I’m just saying-“

“What are we just saying?” Molly asks, throwing the door open. “Also, I bring you a Yasha, ready for drinking and primed for awkward flirting. You’re welcome, Beauregard.”

“My hero,” Beau says. She does have a ruddy blush blooming in her cheeks when Yasha strolls across the room, giving Jester a brief hug when the girl opens her arms for one, and plants a quick kiss to the crown of Beau’s head. She glares when Fjord snorts.

“What are we watching tonight?” Yasha asks, sitting on the floor beside Beau with a beer in hand. She plants the cap into the meat of her forearm and pops it off. 

“The Official Jersey Shore Porn Parody!” Jester shouts. 

“Sounds fun,” Molly says. He sets to mixing himself a drink that is entirely rum with a splash of coke. “You want one, Fjord?”

“I’m sticking to beer, tonight,” Fjord says. “I’m heading home before midnight.”

“It’s not like you drove here,” Molly insists. “I’d even walk you home.”

“Thanks, but no,” Fjord says firmly. “Enjoy it, though. Finest rum the bottom shelf’s ever seen.”

“I can taste the hangover,” Molly says, downing half of the cup in a swig. “You want to put the movie in, Jess?”

It is somehow even worse than the title would imply. They seem to hit every cheesy, skeevy porn trope while being just past the kind of bad acting that’s enjoyable and right back into cringe-worthy. Halfway through, they’re all deeper into their drinks than they anticipated just to not be the one to suggest they turn it off. Beau moves from beer to rum and coke to straight rum. Molly never left rum. Yasha is on her sixth or seventh beer. Fjord sticks to his guns, nursing his third beer. Jester is somehow drunker than any of them despite having only finished off an entire bottle of coke. Fjord fears the day she actually has a drink.

“This is so baaaaaad,” Jester groans from the bed where she’s half on top of Molly, the latter of whom is on his back watching it upside down. “It’s not even so bad it’s good. Ugh, Fjord, I quit, turn it off.”

“And ruin the tradition of such high quality produ-“ Fjord starts, interrupted by a heavy pillow. He keeps his grip on his beer, laughing as he gets to his feet to turn it off. 

“What do we do now?” Beau slurs, head in Yasha’s lap. “Movie’s shit. Wasn’t even a good drinking game shit movie.”

“Oh oh,” Jester says, shoving herself up. Molly gives a soft “oof” as she pushes her elbows into his stomach. “Let’s play... Truth or Dare!”

“That’s a bad idea,” Fjord says, smiling and shooting finger guns in her direction. “Played enough of that to know where it leads.”

“Come on,” Jester pouts, “We never play Truth or Dare!”

“I’m game.” Yasha stands, looking at Fjord, “What? I want to play.”

“Yeah, Fjord, you’re not even drunk enough to go spilling the good secrets,” Molly says, rubbing his belly as he rolls into a sitting position to face Fjord’s bed.

“Bad idea,” Fjord repeats, but he’s outnumbered. Beau is suspiciously quiet. He looks over to see her just grinning dopily at Yasha. Yeah, he’s completely outnumbered. “Fine. Who goes first?”

“I got the hotel so I get to pick first! Fjord!”

“Fuckin figures,” he mumbles. Quickly clearing his throat, he says, “Truth.”

Jester giggles, never a good sign. “Fjorrrrd, do you.... like me?”

“I like you plenty, Jester,” Fjord says. Before anyone can complain about the response he turns to Yasha, “Truth or Dare?”

“I dare you to dare me,” she says, arms crossed.

He smirks. “Alright, I dare you to lift Beau over your head.”

“Easy,” Yasha says, and Beau yelps as the woman squats to grab her under her arms to hoist her up Lion King style.

“Watch the light,” Beau says, but she’s already set back on the ground. 

Yasha sits beside her. “Beau?”

“Truth, baby,” she says. “I’m an open book.”

“When... Hm. No. Why did you first get black-out drunk?”

Beau quirks an eyebrow. “I didn’t know any better, I just got a little tipsy, then a lot tipsy, then I woke up in my parents’ basement the next morning with our housekeeper cleaning around me.”

“Ooh, a housekeeper,” Molly says, hopping onto Fjord’s bed to sprawl without risk of Jester quashing him again.

“Shove it, Tealeaf,” Beau snaps.

“Is that your dare, dear?”

“I don’t know anything big enough to shove up there that wouldn’t immediately fall back out given how big of an asshole you are. Still, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare me, sweetheart.”

“I dare you to refill the ice bucket.”

Molly sticks his tongue out at her, but dutifully slips out the door, metal bucket in hand. The game continues, mostly truths about childhood embarrassments and dares to do something harmless, but funny. They laugh, drink, and are merry right up until it’s Molly’s turn and they’re all a fair margin drunker, apart from Fjord.

“Fjord,” Molly slurs, “Tee or Dee?”

“Gimme the dee, Molly,” Fjord says, just to make them all laugh. 

Molly grins wide, “I dare you, Mr. Fjord, to kiss me.”

Jester giggles, Beau snorts, but Yasha frowns. “Molly,” she says, low and serious.

“It’s fine,” Fjord says, though he’s not. Not really. Molly leans forward, eyes closed, into Fjord’s space. He smells like sweet liquor, lilac, and smoke. Fjord takes him by the chin, lets Molly smirk then pucker up, and plants a kiss solidly on his forehead. Molly squawks indignantly as Fjord leans away and pats him on the cheek. “I’m too old for you.”

“Dirty cheat, you are,” Molly says, but he recovers quickly. Jester roars with laughter, Beau and Yasha smirk at Molly’s wry pout. “You’re up then, Fjord.”

“I think I’m about done if we’re getting into PG13 dares,” Fjord says lightly.

“That’s half the fun of Truth or Dare,” Molly complains, but Yasha puts a hand on his ankle and he lets it go.

“Are you leaving already?” Jester asks.

Fjord nods, “Seems like. I’ll see y’all next week. This old man’s got a bed time.”

“Let me walk you out,” Molly says, pulling himself to his feet languidly. “I need a smoke anyway.”

“Eugh, cigarettes,” Jester complains, sticking her tongue out at Molly.

“You vape,” he shoots back, “you were literally just sucking on an e-cig.”

“That’s not smoke, it’s vapor. Smoke is gross.”

“Well I’m a gross person, just ask Beau.”

“I’m going,” Fjord says, as both farewell and reminder. 

Jester scrambles over to him, throwing her arms over his shoulders and pulling him down into a hug. “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t forget where you live.”

Beau gives him a salute, Yasha a nod. To Fjord’s... something, Molly sticks true to his word and follows him downstairs, digging through one of his coat pockets for a lighter and a slim cigarette. He has it in his mouth, hanging down near his chin as they both step out and under the archway. With a flick, the end of the stick catches and glows a cherry red in the relative dark of the hotel entrance.

“Have a good night, Moll,” Fjord says, taking a step away.

“Hold your horses a minute, would you,” Molly says, catching his wrist. He takes a drag, exhaling slowly. “I’m just a tad confused.”

A knot forms low in Fjord’s belly. “What’d you need?”

“I can’t help but notice,” he starts.

“You can’t?” Fjord cuts in.

“Can’t,” he repeats. “You know what I like, Fjord, you know what you like. I know that I’m on your list, so I couldn’t help but notice no matter how hard I try to help you along here, you keep pushing away. You know the only one who’d give you shit about it is Beau.”

“You’re telling me an awful lot about what I know,” Fjord says, lowering his voice in annoyance. “I figure you might be overstepping here.”

“Oh come off it, you’re queer as a three dollar bill,” Molly says, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“I’m not having this conversation when you’re drunk,” Fjord asserts, pulling away. “Molly, you’ve been a great friend, but if you grab me again I’m knocking you on your ass.”

“Rough housing,” Molly says, flashing a grin in the low light. “Is that what you’re into?”

“I’m into my business staying my business. Go back upstairs, Mollymauk.”

Molly frowns, takes a pull sharp enough to ash his cigarette almost to his fingers, and tosses the stub off into the gravel lining the sidewalk. “Fine, but you’re going to have to face yourself eventually.”

“I’m gay, Molly. I’m not scared to say it and I’m not scared of you. Let’s end this night civil, please.”

Molly pulls himself up, wrapped in his big, frayed coat, but whatever he wants to say, he says, “Goodnight, Fjord. Safe trip home.”

“Sweet dreams, Molly.” Fjord walks away. He dares to look back, but Molly is nowhere to be seen in the barren entrance to the hotel. What few people are in the parking lot are too caught up in their own conversations to pay him any heed as Fjord walks by the dark cars and under the yellow street lights toward the crosswalk back to campus. It’s a warm night, but he shivers anyway. He tells himself he’s pissed, or annoyed. Mostly, he’s frustrated. 

In his frustration, he shoves the door to his apartment open, sending it clattering against the wall with a sharp crack. Nott yelps, Caleb gasps. Fjord looks up quickly, flushing in embarrassment at the two pairs of eyes staring at him from the living room. They have a pile of cards between them and a few columns of neatly stacked quarters.

“Uh, sorry,” Fjord says, rubbing the back of his head.

“It’s alright,” Caleb says, studying him as he eases the door closed and steps into the apartment proper. “Are you?”

“Hm?”

“Alright,” Caleb clarifies, absently putting a hand over the deck as Nott pulls her hand away inconspicuously. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. You’re playing poker?”

“Three card draw,” Nott says, looking her cards over. “You’re welcome to join in the next hand.”

Fjord looks between the two of them for a moment and sees the familiarity in their closeness, the way they lean toward each other, the casual touching that Nott avoids like the plague at all other times. He feels a bit like an intruder, and knows what his answer’s got to be. “No, sorry. I don’t know the rules.”

“We could teach you,” Caleb offers.

“It’s late,” Fjord says, and that’s not a no, but it’s the best he can manage.

Nott shakes her head, “It’s still Saturday, you’re not obligated to stress for another twenty hours at least. I’m sure you’ve played some kind of poker before. Texas Hold’em?”

“Now you’re just stereotyping,” Fjord says, but Caleb and Nott open their body language a bit when he steps toward the living room despite his intention to walk toward his bedroom.

“Just a few hands,” Caleb offers. “Nott was losing anyway.”

“I was not!”

“Yes, you were, Nott,” Caleb teases. He shuffles the cards back into the deck and scoots back on the couch to make room at the little table. “Here, take a stack of quarters.”

Fjord shrugs to himself and sits between them, where Caleb pats the cushion. Caleb deftly shuffles a few times before dealing. Fjord knows the rules, but it’s nice to hear them explained. Caleb is methodical, laying out the hierarchy of sets and some basic strategy. They practice a round, which Nott wins. They play a few more, and a few becomes a dozen and it’s almost one in the morning with Nott securing a dragon’s hoard of coins on her side of the table. Fjord thinks it’s a bit odd she pulled three of a kind aces three times in a row, but it’s not like it’s his money in the first place.

“I should be going,” Caleb says as Nott drags another pot of coins toward herself. 

“Alright,” Nott says, shoveling the coins into her pocket. “Goodnight, Caleb. Good luck tomorrow.”

“I will need it, the meeting starts at nearly dinner and, knowing them, will be going until dinner the next day. You know how these people can get the moment there’s an inheritance involved.”

Fjord nods along like he knows even remotely what they’re talking about. Nott squeezes Caleb tightly, scoops up the cards, and shoved them back into their box. Caleb sweeps his and Fjord’s coins into a plastic bag, slips it into his pocket, and heads toward the door. Fjord follows to lock it behind him.

In the hallway, as Caleb pulls his shoes on, the man looks up at Fjord, “I’m sorry your night got side tracked here.”

“Nonsense,” Fjord says, waving it off. “Had plenty of fun with you and Nott. Thank you.”

“I meant, ah,” Caleb trails off. “Never mind.”

“It was nothing, really,” Fjord says. “You know how college parties get sometimes.”

Caleb is silent for just long enough to worry Fjord, but he speaks up just as Fjord starts to fumble another conversation thread. “Yes, of course. I... How have your classes been?”

Fjord shifts his weight a bit, trying not to loom over Caleb as the man insists on having a conversation while doubled over to get his shoe on the right foot. “Well enough. You certainly helped with the Shakespeare class. Can’t thank you enough, really.”

Caleb stomps his shoe on, “It was nothing, truly. If you ever want to do it again, just let Nott know and she will tell me and I can... Or. Well, it would be a bit weird to give you my phone number, wouldn’t it? I don’t, ah. Here, no, it won’t be weird. Give me your phone a moment.”

Fjord looks at Caleb, brow raised, but Caleb meets his eyes and holds out a hand expectantly. Fjord shrugs and fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it with a swipe. “Here, just the little phone icon at the- yeah, on the bottom left- there.”

Caleb types quickly, fingers rapping out a short, “Save this number” into a text and sending it to what must be his own phone. Caleb’s pocket chimes, but he ignores it a moment to fill in his contact information in Fjord’s phone before handing it back. “There. If you have any questions about Shakespeare, just send me a text. I keep my phone silenced when I am unable to take calls, so don’t worry about the hour, I will see it when I mean to; it won’t interrupt.”

“Thanks,” Fjord says, because what else is there to say about it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Caleb nods, though it seems more in self-assurance than anything else. “Sleep well, Fjord,” he says. He steps out into the night and Fjord closes the door behind him, locking the knob and sliding the deadbolt. 

“Good night,” Nott says from behind him. Fjord jumps and Nott snickers before slipping toward her room with no further comment. 

“Night,” he says to mostly empty air. He pads to his room, gets into his pajamas, and rolls into bed. He’s grateful for Caleb’s distraction. It would have really sucked to have to sleep on this whole Molly thing as the end of the night. He opens his phone, just to check the message. Caleb Widogast, Esq. is set as the contact with Shakespeare Expert filled in under the occupation. Fjord snorts quietly, puts his phone to sleep and follows suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Mollymauk, but people using his pinning of Caleb to the cave wall as a shippy moment always rubbed me the wrong way. He was explicitly doing it because he knew it made him uncomfortable and kept him off balance. That’s sort of my justification for his behavior here - he knows how to get under people’s skin in an attempt to get them to answer him truthfully or get a point across. That doesn’t make him a terrible, irredeemable person, he’s just capable of being a massive asshole when he wants to be. So yes, I’m not against Fjord/Molly or Caleb/Molly or Anyone/Molly. It just isn’t going to work out for him in this story, not with Fjord, at least.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some patching up, some discussions, just a lot of dialogue to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more written, but decided it deserved its own chapter. Also this chapter fought against me pretty hard, so the next one will be both longer and come out much faster.

Sunday goes by silently, for the most part. He receives a single, inquisitive text from Jester asking him if he made it home, but no mention of anything else. He trusts that Jester would have immediately jumped on his case had Molly said anything even close to what had gone down. He sends her a quick reply, then goes back to his breakfast. It’s nothing, really. Molly is probably embarrassed, will send Fjord a quick apology, and they can all get on with their lives. 

No such text arrives by lunch. Nor dinner. Then Fjord sets his phone to Do Not Disturb so he can study and finish up an outline on what he wants to discuss in class tomorrow. They’re working through the sonnets, and Fjord got to bring up just a few things Caleb had mentioned about them. His professor looked a little impressed with his understanding, perhaps a little curious when he brought up the idea that they were written by someone convinced their love would not be reciprocated. He keeps the masturbation joke to himself, but on reading Sonnet #4, he laughs alone in his room. 

“...Why dost thou spend upon thyself...”

He smiles at the book, pen in hand, and taps the line with the capped back. Maybe he should bring it up in class. It’s only been a few hours of class time, but everyone seems fairly loose about it. Nobody praising Shakespeare as the ultimate genius to ever write a line. Chewing his lip, Fjord pulls out his phone. Caleb had said it wouldn’t be a bother. Surely there’s no harm in running it by him. It’s funny and dirty and really all Caleb’s fault he’s even read it that way. Ah fuck it. 

Fjord: “I’m onto Sonnet #4 and you’ve tainted my brain with your impure interpretations.”

He puts his phone face down on the desk and gets through a few more sonnets. There are a few hang-ups on the wording, but as usual, Fjord makes it through. The nagging in his brain about Molly, about the sonnets, about possibly bugging Caleb. He puts all of that in nice, orderly boxes and shoves them into the correct brain-space to be addressed when he has time. With that done, he decides to move on to the reading for Marine Biology. There are a dozen pages, a ten minute video clip, and a required forum post to get through by Friday, but it’s more appealing to chunk through that than to unpack everything else.

It is near midnight when he checks his phone in preparation for sleeping. He has an unread text, lit up beside the notification that it was muted for his convenience. Caleb replied, just ten minutes prior.

Widogast Esq.: “The one where he talks about the man spending upon himself, yes. I look forward to proofing your essay, “Autoeroticism in Shakespeare’s Sonnets, a Study of Entendres Doubled.””

Fjord smirks, chuckling to himself softly. He taps out a reply, “Who says I’d be having you proofread my work? You’ve already bought the books, I don’t need to put even more on you.”

He sets the phone on his nightstand and shucks his shirt, stopping with it halfway over his head when he hears the soft clatter that denotes a reply. Fully shirtless, he reads it, “It wouldn’t be a bother. I’m curious to read another’s perspective on William’s debauchery.”

Fjord texts one-handed as he finishes undressing. “You’re on a first name basis, then?”

Widogast, Esq.: “Of course.”

Fjord: “Of course?”

Widogast, Esq: “We are very close, he and I. He was practically my best friend in high school.”

Fjord finishes dressing, the moves to the bathroom to clean up before bed. He types, “At the risk of sounding too familiar, I ain’t surprised you were a bookworm.”

Widogast, Esq.: “Yeah that is fair.”

Fjord: “The important thing is that I’m benefitting from it.”

Widogast, Esq.: “I live to serve.”

Fjord rinses his toothbrush, washes out his mouth, and walks back to his room, phone in hand. “Well thank you kindly anyway.”

Widogast, Esq.: “It is no trouble. I strive to help others find the mastubatory meaning in the books they read.”

Fjord: “Titillate while you educate?”

Widogast, Esq.: “Edubation, if you will.”

Fjord has to slap his phone down against his chest as he climbs into bed, choking on a roaring laugh. As he gets himself under control, his phone buzzes again. He situates himself for another moment, tugging the comforter up to his armpits before he checks the responses.

Widogast, Esq.: “But what are you doing up so late on a Sunday?”  
Widogast, Esq.: “Am I keeping to awake?”

Fjord: “It ain’t nothing, I’m already in bed. Got my evening rituals done one handed.”

Widogast, Esq.: “That one I am not going to touch. You’ve yet to master William’s subtlety.”

It takes Fjord a moment, and when it clicks, his face burns. He stabs his thumbs across the keyboard harder than strictly necessary. “I meant texting while getting my pjs on!”

Widogast, Esq.: “You could have merely texted me tomorrow.”

Fjord: “I wasn’t doing anything else.”

Widogast, Esq.: “I appreciate the dedication to timely response. You should sleep, though.”

Fjord: “Goodnight, dad. *eyeroll*”

Caleb’s typing indicator flashes for a few seconds. It stops, starts, then falls flat for a few more seconds. For a moment, Fjord wonders if he fucked up somewhere, then his phone buzzes with, “Goodnight.”

It’s disconcerting, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, that Caleb’s response took deliberation and that he feels he overstepped somewhere in that response. Was it the eyeroll emoji? Too immature? Regardless, Caleb is right. It’s late and he has classes in the morning, so he plugs his phone into the charger, flips out the light, and rolls over.

Sleep comes on quickly, a rush of darkness at the edges of his vision as he exhales slowly. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. The next inhale pulls him fully under, into a dream of unsteady footing, dark ocean, and salty air. Fjord wakes feeling like he had just closed his eyes, but his phone is buzzing with his first alarm. He slaps at it uselessly until he gets his wits about him enough to unlock the screen and shut it off. It’s still dark, but it won’t be for long. The tell-tale fingers of orange sun are creeping under his window shade. 

Fjord receives no texts all day, his conversation with Jester is painstakingly normal, and when he gets back to his apartment Fjord can feel an itch under his skin. Molly should have at least tried to smooth things over by now. It’s not like him to just let things lie even when he should. He’s in the kitchen and Nott is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s not around. Fuck it.

Molly picks up on the second ring. “Fjord,” he says, dragging the r in his name. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just checking on you,” Fjord says, voice even.

Molly laughs on the other end, and it’s his usual, light-hearted chuckle. “How chivalrous.”

“Look, Molly, I just wanted to clear the air.”

Molly sucks on his teeth, “I dunno how much clearer you could make it. I was ready to leave you be and here you go calling me up. No hard feelings, Fjord. Literally and metaphorically.”

“I don’t want to-,” Fjord takes a firm breath. “I may have been harsh with you, Molly, I get that.” Fjord is not apologizing, and he doubts Molly will miss his deliberate word choice, but god dammit he’s not sorry and Molly should be. “I don’t want to not be friends with you, Moll.”

Another slow chuckle, “I didn’t think a little boozy yelling was going to ruin our friendship, Fjord. I’m sorry if I came on a bit too strong for you. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. That’s good.” Fjord sighs. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

“Sure,” Molly says, and the line goes dead. It wasn’t the apology he wants, but it’s one he can live with. It’s the one he’s got. 

“Everything all right?”

Fjord jumps. “Nott,” he says, through gritted teeth, “didn’t know you were there.”

She brushes past him to get to the cupboard for a glass. “I heard you yelling and I was thirsty anyway,” she says by means of explanation. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Fjord says, stepping out of her way dutifully when she needs to reach the refrigerator. “It’s just peachy.”

She grunts in acknowledgement. “Lover’s spat, then?”

“No.” Fjord reigns himself in when he hears how vehemently that came out. He exhales slowly, unclenching his jaw, lets his fingers uncurl. “No,” he says more sedately.

Nott’s eyebrows are nearly to her hairline. “Touchy,” she mutters, taking a drink. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “So what was that about then? Something happen at the party? Oh, did he _make a move_ on you? Did you get in a fight about it?”

“Didn’t reckon you cared all that much about me, Nott, I’m touched.”

“Well I cant afford this place by myself and I don’t want to have to get to know someone else so soon after I wasted all that energy getting to know you,” she says. “Besides, Caleb likes you.”

Fjord flushes, “How... nice?”

“You’re avoiding my question,” she notes, and crosses her arms, cup held limply in one hand.

“Which one?” 

“What happened at the party?” 

“Nothing important, Nott.” She quirks her eyebrow again. Fjord considers his next words carefully, inhaling as he thinks of what he wants to say to the intrusion and exhaling all the cruel words unspoken. She’s going to find out sooner or later, so he may as well get it over with now. “Look, I’m gay. Molly got it in his head that I’m repressed and that he should be the one to fix it. He was drunk so he didn’t word it very well.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Nott snorts, “Well what did you want me to say? ‘Oh no, you’re _gay?_ But now I can sleep soundly knowing you have no sexual attraction to my gender, what will I do?’”

“Well you don’t sound very surprised,” Fjord gripes. “That’s not... it’s...”

“Oh, are you ‘straight passing?’” Nott asks, clearly delighted. “Are you upset that you’re not masc enough to skim under my gaydar?”

“Hey now, I’m plenty masculine!” He draws himself up to his considerable height and squares his shoulders.

“Yes yes, you’re the epitome of masculinity. You can relax, I’ve just got plenty of experience having lived with-“ she cuts off abruptly, pursing her lips as she catches herself on the end of that particular sentence.

Fjord squints at her for a moment, then his eyebrows go up. “Wait...”

“Lived with plenty of gay people in my home town,” Nott continues, too quickly. “Regular San Francisco of the northeast, my home town. Loads of gays, one might say.”

“Caleb?” Fjord asks. “Really?”

“I didn’t say shit, Fjord,” Nott claims.

“Alright, alright,” Fjord says in appeasement. “You know I’m not gonna be homophobic, though. You must’ve been worried, what with the accent, I’m sure.”

“Fjord, the only Texans I know that would vehemently deny having sexual interest with a beautiful woman while keeping company with a bird like Molly are either queer or faking the accent.”

“That’s awful close-minded if you to assume,” Fjord says, affronted.

“And yet?” Nott asks, far too smug.

Fjord’s face can’t physically get very red, but he can feel it making a damned good attempt at it. “Why weren’t you wearing your damned sandals, anyway? Creeping in to eavesdrop?”

Nott shrugs, “I don’t have to wear them, you’re not my boss.”

“Yeah, all right. You can leave me be, now.”

“Fine fine, go about your business. I also came out here to let you know that Caleb might stop by Wednesday night. He has a few hours free and wants to take me to dinner. He told me to ask you if you would like to come with us. So. Would you like to come with us to dinner on Wednesday?”

Fjord’s thoughts crash into each other at the conversation shift. “What?”

“Dinner. Wednesday night. Yes or no?”

Fjord thinks over his schedule, “Yeah, I can swing that. Where were you thinking?”

Nott shrugs, “I’m good with anything, really. I think Caleb mentioned the Indian place on Wolf Road?”

“A white guy who likes spicy food? Color me impressed.”

Nott sticks her tongue at him, “Racist.”

“If he gets naan and rice, I’m leaving,” Fjord teases.

“For your information, the last time we were there he got the third spiciest thing on the menu and only cried a little.”

“I’ve never been,” Fjord says, sobering a bit. “How, uh, how’re the prices there? Just so I can budget a bit this week.”

“Caleb’s going to pay for you,” Nott says, though she seems to brighten as she says it. “You know he’s going to.”

“I’d really rather he didn’t,” Fjord tries. “Really, it’s no bother.”

“Feel free to argue with him,” Nott says. “Anyway, I have books to read and notes to take.”

“Same,” Fjord says, taking his cue to retreat to his room. As he sets up his laptop, he retrieves his phone. He types out a text to Caleb: “Nott invited me to dinner.”

The reply is more instantaneous than he anticipated. “And your answer?”

Fjord: “Sure, I can swing that. The Indian place over on Wolf?”

Widogast, Esq.: “If that suits you, yes.”

Fjord: “Sure. What time on Wednesday?”

Widogast, Esq.: “7:30 if that suits you.”

Fjord: “Sure.” 

Fjord frowns at his phone. He’s said ‘sure’ too many times, he’s positive of it. Caleb’s typing bubble comes up for a moment, then drops. 

Widogast, Esq.: “I am glad. See you then. I will let Nott know the details.”

Well, at least he’s got plans for Wednesday that aren’t ‘get home, make dinner, study, then sleep.’ It’s like a real social life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just relieved to be done with this chapter, to be honest. Next one should be out shortly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord lets Caleb take him to dinner. Well, joins Nott on the dinner he’s taking her to, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone appreciates the fact that I made myself curry so I would remember what it tastes like solely so I could write this chapter better.

“He’s taking you to dinner? Oh my gosh, Fjord!” Jester has her face in both her hands from across the table, looking far too excited. 

Fjord pokes at his lunch, “He’s taking Nott to dinner and I’m a hanger-on. Nott said he’d try to pay for me, but I’m going to cover my part of it. It’s not going to be a thing.”

Jester frowns, “You said he’s a lawyer, though, so like. He can afford it.”

“I can afford it just fine,” Fjord protests, taking out his frustration on the iceberg lettuce via fork-stab. “He’s doing me a favor just driving me there.”

“Well yeah, you _can_ afford it, but he can afford it better, right? Like, you could afford to get lunch somewhere else, but you let me use my meal swipe.”

“This is different,” Fjord protests, “you get these anyway.”

Jester levels a look at him. “Fjord, I asked my mom for this meal plan instead of the other ones.”

“Wait, it’s not... You don’t get those swipes like, automatic?” Well shit.

“I mean, it’s not like,” she stumbles, seeing something in his expression. “I like being able to bring any of my friends to get lunch with me. So-“

“Who else do you bring for lunch, Jester? Is your mom giving me a free lunch?”

“I bring Yasha! Sometimes. And I like to have the option, Fjord, I’m not just...”

“Pitying me?” Fjord knows it’s not fair, that he’s getting worked up over something that doesn’t really matter. But god dammit, she could have told him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice has a watery quality to it that makes Fjord’s heart sink.

“No, hey, don’t do that,” Fjord says, taking her hand across the table. “You didn’t do nothing wrong, Jes. _I’m_ sorry, alright? I’m being an asshole. I can’t tell you what to spend your money on, you were just being sweet. I appreciate it.”

“You’re sure?” Jester asks. She has a pout to her lips that somehow manages to avoid being petulant.

“Yes, cross my heart.”

“Good. Then maybe you can just let Caleb buy you dinner.”

“God dammit, Jester,” Fjord says, dropping her hand. “It’s a little different with you!”

“Why is it different?”

“We’re friends,” Fjord grumbles.

“Aren’t you texting Caleb like every day?”

“I’ve only had his number for like three days.”

“Still,” Jester muses. “I bet he thinks you’re friends. You said he bought your books and he talks to you whenever you see each other and doesn’t let you just run off to your room. Molly couldn’t even keep you out of your room that much last year.”

“Last year was different,” Fjord says. “I was brand new to college, I didn’t know how the tests were gonna go. Plus it’s the start of the year. He’s caught me at a good time for being sociable.”

“Well I think you’re friends, and sometimes friends buy each other things. Maybe you can just buy him something some time, or do something nice for him.”

“Jester, what am I going to get a fuckin estate lawyer that he can’t get for himself?”

“It’s not about what he _can_ get for himself, it’s about what you think of getting for him! Like when you get me donuts!”

“You tell me to get you those,” Fjord says, amused. 

Jester shakes her head, tugging at her hair, “That’s not the point. I could afford to buy donuts, but so can you. It’s something _you_ can get for _me_ that lets me know you care! You always pick the right ones, too!”

Fjord elects to refrain from mentioning she almost always specifies what she wants. “Alright, assuming I could afford something he’d like, it’s not like we’ve really talked about like, stuff he’d want to get.”

Jester lets her head hit the table with an audible thud, her voice muffled as she half-yells, “You are such a _guyyyy_!” She lifts her head, “Okay. Fjord. You’ve talked to him, like, you’ve technically had a lot of conversations. What does he do?”

“I told you, he’s an estate lawyer, handles dead people’s stuff and... stuff.”

“No, what’s he _do_ , like, for fun?”

“I mean, he likes reading? He’s read Shakespeare, obviously.”

“Reading is boooring, but you’re both old so I guess that’s okay. So can you get him a book, or a poster or something about Shakespeare? I’m pretty sure there are like Shakespeare t-shirts in the campus store you could get with your loads and loads of campus dollars.”

“Jester, he wears suits everyday, I don’t think some tacky-ass college t-shirt is gonna be something he’s gonna want.”

“Well I think it is! If I had to wear some boring old suit all the time forever, _I_ would want something fun and colorful to wear! Think about it, okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” he promises.

He buys the shirt.

It takes some perusing for Fjord to find the right one, along the racks and racks of shitty college shirts with undoubtedly stolen designs on the front, but he finds the perfect one. It’s a gray shirt with Shakespeare’s head wearing sunglasses on it, stating, “I wrote that wench a sonnet. Wenches love sonnets.” Thank god for liberal colleges with a strong English department. The purchase knocks twenty dollars off his Campus Cash, but Fjord’s not particularly concerned about the stupid fake money account. It comes with a little university paper bag and some tissue paper, which will have to do since Fjord doesn’t actually own anything in which to keep a gift.

Nott isn’t in the kitchen when he returns with the shirt, so he steals away to his room to stick it in the bottom of his closet. It stays there for the next two days, not hidden, but out of sight. Come Wednesday night, he’s almost forgotten about it. He very well might have had Jester not texted him asking after it. 

“Caleb will be here any minute,” Nott says from the kitchen, already tapping her foot at the counter. She’s not nervous, per se, but she’s practically vibrating in anticipation. She’s wearing a shawl over her usual leggings and sweater jacket.

“I’m just putting my shoes on,” Fjord says, walking past her to the door where his nicer shoes lay against the wall. He’s even put socks on for the occasion. His wallet is a comforting lump in his back pocket. He fully intends to insist on paying for what he orders, but part of him has resigned to the inevitable. At the least he intends to keep up appearances.

Nott checks her phone, the flicks to her camera to look at herself. She tilts her phone at a few angles, frown deepening the more she tries. Fjord has noticed the light foundation she’s put on tonight, nowhere near the amount Jester or Molly used, but it is also the wrong tone for her skin. She has warm undertones and this foundation is very pink. Nott takes another look at herself from a low angle and grimaces, lips twisted in disgust as she mutters, “Fuck this.”

Fjord watches her wet a paper towel and scrub at her face roughly. “Nott-“ Fjord starts.

“Not a word,” she snaps, “it was a stupid free gift from a magazine, it’s all wrong.”

“Just had a little advice,” Fjord says, hands up in pacification.

She looks him up and down, “If you say anything about how a woman doesn’t need makeup to be beautiful I am going to cut you from navel to nuts.”

“Harsh, but no,” Fjord says. “You’re right, the stuff’s all wrong. You’re gonna want a yellower foundation to complement your skin tone.”

“I would never have ever guessed you were gay,” Nott says.

Fjord frowns, but settles with rolling his eyes. “Molly was my roommate last year, I picked up a few thing, alright? If you and him could get along, he might actually have some good advice for your makeup adventures.”

“It was just a free sample from a magazine so I figured I would try it out is all,” Nott says. She pats her skin dry with another paper towel and throws them both away. 

Fjord nods, “Sure, but one more word of advice: front camera fuckin sucks. If someone’s figured out how to take a good picture with it, I’d love to know how.”

“We’re walking dangerously close to that ‘’mentioning my body in any way, shape, or form” clause of our roommate agreement,” Nott notes, but her tone has softened. Her phone buzzes in her hand and she jerks as she checks the text. “He’s here!”

Fjord finishes tying his shoes and straightens his only button down over his chest and stomach. He has a hand on the knob when he hears a knock. Caleb stands at the entryway, typing something into his phone when Fjord swings the door open. “Howdy, Caleb.”

“Hello,” Caleb says, distracted. He puts his phone down, eyebrows going up when he sees Fjord. “Oh, you dressed up.”

That’s a generous statement given Caleb is wearing an outfit sharp enough to cut a man. His slacks are pressed, his polo is buttoned to the second highest at the collar, and his belt buckle must be polished to have that artistic gleam to hit. He’s wearing a watch, and it’s got to be a deliberate choice that it’s not quite as nice as the one he wore with his suit the first time Fjord met him. “It’s the only dress shirt I own,” Fjord admits when he recovers. “Nothing on yours.”

“Before _Ikithon and Hass_ whipped me into shape, I truly had no idea how to dress myself,” Caleb says. “Now it’s merely habit.”

“Was that where you were partner?” Fjord asks. Something flickers across Caleb’s features. It’s not anger, but near enough to it that Fjord abruptly realizes he hasn’t invited Caleb inside. “Shit, sorry, I’ve left you out here on the doorstep. Come in, come in.”

“No need,” Nott says and pushes past him to hug Caleb tightly. “I’m ready to go eat if you are!”

“Uh, sure,” Fjord says, thoughts going to the shirt in his closet. “I just... Never mind. I’m starved, let’s go.”

The ride is shorter than Fjord thought it would be. The restaurant is a small place off Wolf Road, across from a frozen yogurt bar. The parking lot in the back is sparsely filled, just four other cars, which isn’t exactly surprising on a Wednesday night. When they walk in, Caleb at the front and Fjord taking up the back, it’s pretty apparent that the cars outside must belong solely to the cooks and host. It’s completely empty of other patrons. 

“Just the three?” the maître d’ asks. She’s a pleasant looking woman, wearing a conservative red dress and a small smile. “Jaspreet will show you a table.”

The server nods at them, dressed in black slacks and a black button down, a pair of silver cuff links at the sleeves, his hair shaped neatly across his forehead. He begins to gesture to a table in the middle of the room when Caleb coughs into his hand, “I apologize, but could I trouble you for the booth?”

It gives Jaspreet a moment of pause, eyes flicking to the booths then to Caleb’s clothes, watch, and face. His placid smile returns. “Of course, though it would have to be along this wall, to maintain the sections.”

“Thank you,” Caleb says and allows himself to be steered over to the closest booth. He slides into the middle with Nott and Fjord on either side. “It is just a, ah, a preference.”

“Of course, and would you like a moment to peruse the menu?”

“Yes,” Nott says. She adds a belated, “Please,” when Caleb quirks an eyebrow her way. 

The server nods and steps away. Fjord looks over the thin, laminated menu placed artfully on the table. His eyes settle quickly on the lamb vindaloo. The smell of ginger permeates the restaurant along with several other spices that Fjord can only associate with curry. It has his mouth watering and his stomach rumbling. Fjord lays his menu flat.

“Decided already?” Caleb asks, eyes still on the menu.

“Yeah, lamb vindaloo looks awful appetizing right now.”

“A good choice,” Caleb says absently. “Have you ever tried the lime soda, ah, nimbu pani, I believe it is?”

Caleb’s pronunciation leaves something to be desired, but Fjord finds it. A salted soda. Maybe pass on that one. “Can’t say I have, but I think I’ll stick to water.”

As of on cue, Jaspreet returns with a set of silver chalices and a silver pitcher filled with water. “Would you like something to start?”

“Perhaps an order of... Bedami Nan?” Caleb looks to Fjord and Nott. At their assent he looks to Jaspreet. “Yes.”

“Alright. And drinks?”

“I would like the, ah, Nimbu Pani.”

“It is different from Sprite, sir,” Jaspreet says.

“He’s had it before,” Nott cuts in, glaring over her menu. “He knows what it is.”

“I meant no offense,” the server says quickly, but Caleb has a hand up waving it off.

“I understand,” Caleb says easily, but he looks flushed in what might be embarrassment. “I think Fjord was ready to order?”

“Uh, sure, yeah. Could I get the lamb vindaloo?”

“Of course, and you, ma’am?”

“Tikka Masala, chicken,” Nott says, still glaring.

“Mild or hot?”

“Hot,” Nott says, then rolls her eyes when Caleb clears his throat. “Please.”

“And you sir?”

“The chicken vindaloo, hot,” Caleb says.

“Vindaloo is always hot, sir,” the server says, then seems to catch himself and looks to a seething Nott, but she keeps her mouth closed. The force of keeping her mouth shut has her eye twitching. Jaspreet wisely takes a quick note on his pad and tells them their Nan will be out shortly and makes an escape.

“Nott,” Caleb says softly, “really it’s fine.”

“He’s treating you like you’re an idiot,” Nott snaps.

“He’s treating me like someone unfamiliar with the cuisine. It’s not an unfair assumption, liebling.”

Nott pours herself some water more aggressively than necessary, but lets it go without further complaint.

“So, Fjord,” Caleb tries, “how have classes been?”

“They’re going fine, nothing to complain about just yet.” Fjord accepts the pitcher from Nott and pours himself some water. It tastes very metallic, but that might just be because it’s tap water in a fancy container. Maybe he shouldn’t be assuming the worst. It’s fine. “A lot of reading and memorizing for now. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Your confidence is admirable,” Caleb says, taking the proffered water vessel. He pours as he looks over at Nott, “And your classes?”

“We talk almost every day, you know how my classes are going,” Nott says, affectionate exasperation in her tone, and nudges Caleb with an elbow. “Is the whole Prucine debacle over yet?”

“It should be,” Caleb says. He takes a breath in through his nose. “It only took three months of paper work, hearings, and meetings to get it all settled. I know there is more going on than I was told, but I have no interest in getting more involved than I have to.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Fjord asks, because he doesn’t want this conversation to get too heavy. 

“I must have lost it in my first few years of lawyering,” Caleb says. “There are so many things I used to want to know that now I know I really did not.” 

So much for lightening the mood. “Uh, sorry.”

Caleb snaps out of whatever melancholy managed to get a grip around him, shaking it off physically in his seat. “No, that was dark, I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because it was a shitty time in your life?” Nott supplies.

“True. Still, that is hardly dinner conversation.”

Fjord just drains his chalice.

Jaspreet returns with a plate of thin bread and a fresh pitcher of water. It provides a reprieve as they take a few minutes to sample the Nan. It’s nice, especially given the most interesting thing Fjord’s been able to eat in the past week was a western omelette for breakfast with Jester. Conversation picks up lightly with general talk about how life at the apartment is going, how they like their schedules. It’s all very bland, but Fjord will take the safe waters of small-talk. 

When their dinner proper arrives, Fjord is absolutely voracious. The mix of spices calls to him even as his forebrain warns him of the steam rolling off the plate. He eats around the edges, using the comparatively cool rice to whet his appetite further. Caleb inhaled sharply though his nose, drawing Fjord’s eyes. The man sitting with a spoon still in his mouth, trying to cool the morsel without taking it out. 

“You can... you can blow on it,” Fjord says, stifling a laugh. 

Caleb pulls the spoon out and quickly resubmerges it in his plate. “One shouldn’t take food out of one’s mouth at the table,” he says stiffly. “God that was hot.”

Nott sniffs loudly, then blows her nose. Fjord does a double take at half her plate being missing. She stares back at him, “What?”

“Nothing,” Fjord says, looking back to his own dinner. He tries fishing a potato out of the dish, blowing on it before sticking it into his mouth. It’s delightfully spicy, the potato is fluffy and soft despite the firm outside. It sets his eyes prickling and nose running, but it’s one of the most flavorful things he’s had in a month. “How’s your vindaloo, Caleb?”

“Hot,” he wheezes. Fjord looks to him in alarm. Caleb is red from neck to hairline, with a sheen of sweat on his brow. Despite that, he’s shoveling another bite into his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?” Fjord asks as he rushes to fill Caleb’s chalice.

“Fine,” he says, accepting the cup with a nod and swallowing half of it. With a rough cough and a sigh, he blinks back the tears. “I do like the way spice feels, even if I do look like I am dying.”

“What’re you, a masochist?” Fjord asks, incredulous. He sniffs Caleb’s plate surreptitiously and recoils when it singes the inside of his nose. “That’s way hotter than mine.”

Nott snorts from her side of the table. “They always do this. I think they’re trying to prove something. Make the white guy cry.”

“Well I do like the spice, so what does it matter their reasoning for it?” Caleb asks, finally taking the time to eat some of the basmati rice. The color is starting to fade from his face. 

“It’s the- the _principle_ of it, Caleb!”

Caleb shrugs, “I don’t mind, Nott.”

Nott grumbles, but keeps her peace. 

As Caleb and Fjord finish their meals, Nott polishes off the Nan, Caleb’s rice, and the last of the water. Jaspreet checks on them once, looking briefly disappointed when all Caleb has to say is that the meal is very good. His second trip over, Nott reaches out with her hand at the same time Jaspreet moves to put fresh pitcher down, splashing the water onto the table cloth. He apologizes, fumbling for a fabric napkin as Nott pads at the spill with her own. 

“No no, my fault, clumsy me,” she says, batting her cloth over his hands as he takes over cleaning up the spill. “It’s all over your arms, too. I’m so sorry.”

It doesn’t sound all that convincing, but Jaspreet accepts her apology gracefully and steps away as soon as the water is mostly sopped up. Caleb looks at Nott suspiciously, but also keeps his silence. “Excuse me,” he says to Fjord. Fjord looks at him blankly before he realizes he’s caging Caleb into the booth. Caleb slips out when Fjord stands and walks toward where Fjord assumes the restrooms to be. 

Nott pours herself another cup of water, looking strangely pleased with herself. 

“You look like the cat who got the canary,” Fjord says. He’s full, and he can feel post-meal exhaustion creeping in, but he knows a trouble-maker when he sees one. “What’re you up to?”

“‘Up to’ implies I haven’t done something yet,” Nott says ambiguously. She drains the cup like it’s fine wine. Or at least middle shelf wine. 

Caleb returns, shoving his wallet back into his pocket before moving to sit down beside Fjord. “Are we ready to go?”

“Wait, did you just pay?” Fjord asks, looking over to the hostess station. 

“Yes? Did you want to get dessert?”

“No, I just. What’d my total come to?” Fjord tries to stand enough to get his wallet out of his back pocket, jostling the table. 

“I’ve got it,” Caleb says, putting his hand on Fjord’s arm gently. “Really, Fjord, it’s covered.”

Fjord frowns, and he hates the helplessness in the pit of his stomach at being taken care of like a child. “At least let me get the tip. What was the total?”

“I put the tip on my card,” Caleb says, and now he sounds distressed. “Fjord, I promise it is okay. I thought it was understood I was taking you both to dinner.”

Fjord deflates, “Yeah, Nott said you’d probably do that.”

“Are you uncomfortable with that, Fjord? I didn’t mean to put you out like this. It’s not that I don’t think you can afford it.”

“Jesus,” Nott interrupts, “it was a seventy-five dollar meal between the three of us, Fjord. With tip it was, what, ninety? I think you can suck it up a let him cover thirty dollars. This wasn’t a hundred dollar steak dinner date.”

“You’re right, I’m being an ass.” Fjord turns to Caleb, “Thank you, really. I’m sorry I’m being weird about it.”

“You are quite welcome,” Caleb says. “Shall we go?”

They file out past the hostess, who thanks them for their business and expresses her hope that they’ll return soon. Jaspreet stands at her side, nodding to them. Nott doesn’t look at either of them as she passes the fish tank on the way out. Fjord gives them a small wave and follows after. When they reach the apartment, Caleb puts the car in park without turning it off. He leans over to hug Nott and Fjord realizes he’s not planning on coming inside while also remembering the shirt still in his closet.

“Wait,” Fjord barks from the back seat, Nott and Caleb pulling up short just shy of a seat belted embrace. Face flushed, Fjord continues, “Would you like to come in for a coffee or something?”

“Uh. Sure,” Caleb says, turning the key and unbuckling. “I don’t have to be up before six tomorrow.”

Nott looks at Fjord, scanning his face for something, but she unbuckles and slips out. She has the key, so she lets them all in when Caleb and Fjord reach the door. Fjord hits the light as the walk into the kitchen after they take their shoes off. 

Fjord’s heart thumps when he realizes for a panicked second that he doesn’t know for certain if they even have coffee, but it settles when he sees the red Folger’s tin beside the coffee maker and sets to brewing. Nott fetches the mugs from the cabinet and gives them a cursory rinse while the coffee starts to drip. Caleb takes a seat on the couch, waiting for Nott to sit by his side. While the decanter fills, Fjord goes to his room to retrieve the bag. He’s not being intentionally quiet as he walks back toward the kitchen, but he hears Caleb and Nott _whispering_ in the living room, so he stops and lets his curiosity get the better of him.

“-overstepping, he’s just being weird because you keep buying him things. Which is a little weird, Caleb.” 

“I am just trying to be polite. I want him to like you, Nott.” 

“Me? Caleb, forgive me if I fail to see how buying his books is endearing him to _me_. If you want him to like you, that’s allowed, you know. You kept buying me things, back before, during the Ikithon catastrophe, when I was on the streets and you were... you know.” 

“It’s not like that,” and Caleb sounds upset. “I’m not _regressing_ and trying to make a charity case my personal problem. _You_ were never a charity case. So get that thought out of your head.” 

Fjord realizes at this point that he is overheating things he has no business listening in on, but he’s frozen with the fear that moving to retreat to his room will give him away just as much as a step forward. While he’s deliberating on the best solution, Nott whispers back, “Well you’re acting like... oh my god.” 

“What?” Caleb asks, but asks in the way where he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what. Fortunately, their neighbors choose that moment to shout in excitement about something on television and grants Fjord a moment to stroll around the corner like everything is perfectly fine and he wasn’t hearing anything he wasn’t meant to hear. 

“Hey,” Fjord says, forcing as much oblivious cheer into his voice as he can. “Caleb, I uh, I got you something when I was at the campus store the other day. It’s a, well, here, see for yourself.” 

Caleb and Nott both look up at him with vaguely guilty expressions, but Caleb recovers first and stands to take the bag Fjord holds out. “Ah, thank you? You didn’t have to feel obligated to-“ 

“I wanted to,” Fjord states, and if it comes out harsh, so be it. 

Caleb nods, fishing through the bag to pull out the shirt, unfurling it like a flag to get a look at the front. He barks out a laugh, to which Fjord lets out a relieved breath, and turns it for Nott to see. 

“You are both absolute _geeks_ ,” she says, but she’s smiling perhaps despite herself. 

“I love it, Fjord,” Caleb says, folding it and sliding it back into the bag. “Thank you! I hope it didn’t cost you-“ he trails off at Fjord’s unamused expression. “Thank you,” he says again. 

Whatever Fjord expected in response to the gift, it was not a hug. From the way Caleb gives a short, awkward squeeze and immediately steps back, it doesn’t seem like _Caleb_ expected the hug either. It’s over before Fjord could even consider reciprocating, so he just has his arms half raised while Caleb meets his eyes for a second before sitting back down beside Nott. 

“I think the coffee’s ready,” Nott offers. 

“Right!” Fjord takes the out and darts over to the counter to make three mugs. “You take anything in your coffee?” 

“Black,” Caleb says, “er, by which I mean ‘no,’ as you didn’t ask how I prefer it.” 

Fjord chuckles, setting aside a mug while he adds a dollop of milk to his own and stirs in a few spoonfuls of sugar. “Nott?” 

“A drop of milk, please.” 

They sit in companionable silence, sipping their coffee. It feels homey, even a little adult. The conversation that does pick up after a minute or two is easy, unimportant, and warm. Fjord has a moment to actually breathe. Caleb eventually takes a look at his watch during a lull. He stands, mug in hand, “Well, it’s almost quarter after nine. I should be going. Thank you for the coffee and shirt.” 

“It’s nothing,” Fjord says, getting to his feet as well. “Thank you for dinner.” 

“Any time.” Caleb hands his mug to Fjord, their fingers touching briefly. The brush can’t have lasted more than a second, but Fjord can feel the warmth of Caleb’s skin well after he takes the mugs to the sink. 

“Tell me when you’re free soon,” Nott says, joining Fjord at the sink to rinse out her mug then giving Caleb a tight hug. 

“Always,” Caleb says into her hair. When she pulls away, he holds out a hand to Fjord. They shake, a little off-centered from the embrace earlier, but it’s not awkward. “Text me when you find something suitably dirty in the sonnets.” 

Caleb slips his shoes on and is out into the night. Fjord looks the door behind him, then walks into the kitchen to find Nott perched on the counter, ankles loosely crossed. “So you going to tell me what you did back at the restaurant?” 

“If you must know,” she says, grinning like she was waiting for him to ask. She digs into her pockets and holds out an open palm. In it are two, silver cuff links. 

“Are those the waiter’s?” Fjord asks, incredulous. 

“Maybe he shouldn’t be such an asshole and he’ll stop ‘losing’ things.” 

“Nott, you can’t just steal from people when they’re rude to you,” Fjord protests. 

She smirks, “I don’t. I do it when they’re rude to Caleb.” 

“Still, aren’t you a god damned Criminal Justice major?” 

“Who better to know how it’s done than someone who’s done it before?” Nott pockets the jewelry and jumps off the counter. “Look, I don’t make a habit of it - any more - so don’t worry about it too much. Besides, they’re not even silver, they’re plated nickel.” 

Fjord sighs, but decides this isn’t a hill he’s willing to die on and settles for drying the mugs, sticking them back into the cupboard, and going to bed after brushing his teeth. It’s been an interesting few hours, but not - ultimately - unpleasant. The warmth in his stomach can’t be entirely attributed to quality Indian cuisine. He slips into a pair of sweatpants, flops onto his bed, and plugs in his phone. On the screen is a single text from Jester. 

“How did your date go?” 

Fjord smiles, shakes his head, and types back, “You know, it went well.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstory!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord deals with feelings and Nott is up to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the independently posted chapter for this if, and only if, you are of age to view explicit material.

All trace of humor fades as Fjord puts his phone into Do Not Disturb then sets it face down on his night stand. Now that it’s time for him to sleep, his traitor-brain is replaying the evening. Specifically Caleb’s weird hug. Well, the hug wasn’t weird just because Caleb was giving it. He doesn’t know Caleb well enough to know if he’s a touchy person, though he’s never given real indication of it. 

Caleb touches Nott plenty. They sit close together, he puts his hand on her shoulders, she hugs him. Fjord knows that comfort among family doesn’t necessarily mean Caleb is always that comfortable with physical contact. Nott seems almost allergic to other human beings given how she shies away from being touched. Wracking his brain, since it’s already active when it shouldn’t be, Fjord tries to think of whether or not he’s noticed how Caleb holds himself in public. There haven’t been all that many opportunities.

At the book store he mostly stuck to the magazine rack, edging out of the way of other people. Except he walked almost directly into Fjord when he wasn’t paying attention, so maybe Caleb wasn’t intentionally avoiding people as much as he was engrossed in reading. He put on that air of superiority when talking to the pizza guy, and again when he bought the plays. 

Now Fjord is thinking about how Caleb bought the plays. He rubs his eyes, leaving his palms pressed to his face. It was a nice gesture. That’s all it has to be. He was doing Fjord a solid, and Fjord appreciates it, and that’s the end of that. Fjord rolls over, squeezing his eyes shut and willing his brain to just shut it all off and let him get some rest.

Caleb was warm when they hugged. Even in the brief moment of contact, Fjord could feel the heat of Caleb’s skin through both their shirts.

Fjord flips onto his other side, because he’s not going to unpack that. Not tonight, maybe not ever. Eyes closed, going to sleep.

Caleb smelled like dry cleaning and mild cologne, like walking past a clothing store, but with the undertone of cumin and turmeric even after he had washed up.

Fjord’s eyes snap open, growling in frustration. He’s not going to let one of the only instances of male altruism in his life boil down into a stupid crush and get ruined by feelings. He never should have pried into Caleb’s sexual interests because now it has all his wires crossed over a fucking hug that lasted two-thirds of a second. He flips himself face down on the bed, burying himself in the pillow. It helps muffle his frustrated sighing as he considers his options here. He can lay facedown until the lack of oxygen from breathing through a pillow knocks him out. Or. Well, there’s always one thing he could do to blank his brain for the precious few minutes he needs to fall asleep...

Fifteen minutes and an embarrassingly graphic fantasy later, he slips into sleep. 

—

He wakes up at six, his phone chirping at him to wake up. He takes a quick glance around into the hallway before darting into the bathroom with his waste basket. He flushes the balled up tissues at the bottom before showering. He keeps the water cool, waking up more completely. Unfortunately, waking up means facing the fact that he’s definitely gone and caught feelings. Again. Fuck.

He buries himself in the act of preparing for his next class. The chair is hard against his towel covered ass, but getting properly dried and dressed allows for contemplation. So when he has just a few scant minutes before he needs to be out the door, he allows the stress to eat up everything else as he frantically dresses and sprints outside. He’s not in so much of a hurry that he forgets to lock the door, but he does forget to brush his teeth. He spends his first class self-conscious about every interaction he has with another human being, trying to limit how much he speaks and how often he needs to face someone. 

He doesn’t really have the time to spare to run back to his apartment between classes, but he does anyway. He scrubs at his teeth until the foam goes pink and his gums throb, but it’s distracting in all the ways he needs to be distracted. Focus on the repetition of movement, keep to a schedule, ignore the fact that he rubbed one out to the thought of a guy whose most positive quality is that he’s not a massive douchebag. 

Jester sends him a text saying she doesn’t have time to catch lunch with him and Fjord sends his thanks to whichever god might be listening that he doesn’t need to make an excuse to avoid Jester in the state he’s in right now. Following that prayer, he sends Jester a quick :thumbsup: and a, “catch you tomorrow then.”

By dinner, the panic has receded to a low roar, about its normal volume. He has rice boiling in his covered skillet. A skillet is truly the most versatile of kitchen tools. He hears the slap of sandals on the linoleum and turns to find Nott standing at the table. Fjord’s stomach turns over, but he smiles, “Howdy?”

“Good evening. What’re you making?”

“Just rice and beans, the usual,” Fjord says, turning back to said dish. “You want some?”

“I’m alright, I was going to run out for something later.”

The silence stretches on, only the light rattle of the skillet’s lid breaking it. Fjord lifts the lid to check, as though he doesn’t know it isn’t yet done. “So-“ he starts to say after a minute when Nott cuts him off.

“-Would you mind if Caleb came by while I’m at class tomorrow?”

“Uh. I suppose not?”

Nott sighs, “I needed a book for my evening class and Caleb picked it up for me, but he’s not free until tomorrow afternoon. I know you have Friday clear after one, so would you be able to let him in around two?”

Right, they both habitually keep the door locked, and they’re forbidden to make copies of the key even for family. It makes sense. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. Is he just going to drop the book off and run?”

“He could,” Nott says, and she’s watching him more closely now. “He’s putting a lot of stuff to bed today so he could stick around tomorrow. You could watch tv or talk about Shakespeare like a bunch of nerds until I get back from class.”

Fjord wills himself not to blush as he asks, “Is he going to stay long?”

“Fjord, you have his phone number. Are you okay with getting my book from Caleb or not? If you have plans Friday afternoon he can just put it in my mailbox and go, or futz around for an hour and a half until I get back, but I’d prefer if he wasn’t just... alone at home.”

“I’ll be here,” Fjord says, decisive. It’s fine. He’s fine. It will all be fine. 

—

It’s quarter to two on Friday and Fjord is not fine. 

He’s scrubbing the dishes in the sink from breakfast, Jester had once again been busy. He has his books laid out on the table because he had been studying. If he’s got the sonnets laid out specifically, well, they are going to be moving on to the next set of them after they finish with As You Like It, so it isn’t that weird. Caleb will probably get too caught up in some anecdote or interpretation to notice how flustered Fjord is about being alone with him. 

When the knock does finally come, Fjord has to wait a moment to collect himself before opening the door. Caleb is waiting on the other side. He’s wearing a slightly wrinkled button-down, dress pants, and black shoes. His hair looks a bit of a mess, no product or tie holding it in place. He looks up at Fjord, a textbook held under one arm, a messenger bag under the other. “Good afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Fjord says dumbly then stands aside, shaking his head. “I mean, uh, come on in. Sorry, but of a weird day.”

“Ditto,” Caleb says, stepping inside and kicking off his shoes in the entryway. “Is Nott here?”

“What?” 

“My sister,” Caleb says. “I apologize, I forget how confusing her name can be.”

“No, I meant,” Fjord fumbles. “She’s not going to be here for another hour or so. She asked me to be here for you when you came by.”

“Oh.” Caleb hesitates with the book held in both hands, halfway into setting it on the kitchen counter. 

“I mean, it’s just an hour, if you don’t mind hanging out with me,” Fjord says, forcing a laugh to try to create levity.

“Of course not.” He puts the book down a little too forcefully. “Are you, ah, are you still on the sonnets?”

Fjord nods, “Yeah, number eighteen to whatever now. Past the weird ones where he keeps telling the younger guy to find a wife.”

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Caleb smiles, taking a seat at the table. “That one is so often mistaken by love-struck idiots who think it means something it doesn’t. Come, sit!”

Fjord shrugs, mostly to himself, and sits beside a Caleb who is practically vibrating with excitement, all previous hesitation gone. Maybe this will be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter is short, but the next one will be much longer.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sonnet is analyzed and then there are shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They kiss! It’s been 35+k words, but they doggone did the thing. I don’t think this goes beyond anything you’d see in a PG13 movie, but let me know if you think it’s uncomfortable enough to alter the rating up to Mature.

Fjord sits at the table, smiling without thinking as Caleb leans over his shoulder to run a finger over each line of the sonnet. He has some very strong opinions about this poem in particular. Mid-sentence, he peters off. “What are you laughing at, hm?” Caleb asks. He stands straight to study Fjord’s expression, his own gone playfully wry.

“You,” Fjord answers honestly. “I didn’t think you’d be so adamant this isn’t a love poem, of all of them.”

“Of the first eighteen,” Caleb corrects. He leans back over Fjord’s shoulder, free hand absently braces against the back of Fjord’s neck as he leans in to emphasize the last few lines. “Here, the couplet and the two lines preceding.   
“Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,  
When in eternal lines to time thou growest,  
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,  
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.”  
The poet is being an arsehole. He spent the first seventeen sonnets trying to direct the young man to have a child and here he has given up. He is saying that if he cannot convince the young man to be immortal through a child, the poems will have to do. It is petty.”

“Why can’t it be sweet?” Fjord looks at Caleb, one of the few times he needs to turn his eyes upward, and smirks. “Maybe he’s realized that the, uh, what’d they call him in class... the ‘fair youth.’ Maybe he realized that marriage and kids weren’t for the fair youth, so he’s propositioning him. He can’t have the youth’s children, being a man, but he can give him immortality through his writing.”

“Shakespeare has never been so... so...”

“Romantic?” Fjord supplies. “Ain’t that a whole genre of his plays?”

Caleb rolls his eyes, giving Fjord’s neck a light squeeze, “Don’t you get cheeky.”

Fjord laughs and pats Caleb’s thigh, “Aw, come on, aren’t you being just a little hard on your old friend William here? There’s already all this evidence he’s got the hots for the youth, maybe this is him taking that plunge and saying something about his own interest.”

“I don’t, ah, that could be an interpretation. I suppose.” Caleb stutters, but finds his words a moment later. “But you haven’t read the lot of them yet. You haven’t seen the Dark Lady sonnets starting, ah, Sonnet 127. Clearly the poet lusts for someone else. Even if his feelings for the youth are more than platonic, the poet does have a mistress in the Dark Lady.”

The words are out of Fjord’s mouth before he has time to consider them. “Is that a hint?”

Caleb looks more confused than affronted, but he’s too sharp to miss it for long.

“Uh, a spoiler,” Fjord hurries. “Isn’t that a spoiler? Haven’t read all of them yet and you’re giving away what happens.” He is blessing his skin tone for the way he feels a blush that won’t show much against it.

“They’re not a... hm. That is interesting to consider. Are the sonnets a singular narrative? They certainly follow a linear advancement in events, to a degree. There is no reason to believe concretely that they are necessarily in chronological order, though. The Dark Lady could have been a previous lover, but her existence not being mentioned until later does have an impact in interpretation via retrospect. It could then, I suppose, be a spoiler to have mentioned it now.”

Fjord exhales slowly, letting Caleb muse to himself. The man’s hand dances against Fjord’s neck, fingers absently tapping a nonsense rhythm. His fingers are more calloused than Fjord would have expected, given Caleb’s career. His hand is warm, hot almost, though Fjord is sure his neck must be much hotter at this point. 

“Sorry, I lost myself a moment,” Caleb says, snapping Fjord out of the tiny bubble of physical contact. 

“That’s alright,” Fjord says. “It’s cu-interesting to hear your thoughts on all this. You’re pretty amazing, you know?”

Caleb has no melanin to hide the rosy blush that rises to his cheeks. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Too much time spent on it, really.”

“I’m not just blowing sunshine up your ass, it’s impressive.”

“Eh- interesting turn of phrase?”

“Sorry,” Fjord says, ducking his head, “sailor mouth slips in there sometimes.”

“It’s all right,” Caleb says. He doesn’t move from Fjord, though he does stand up a little straighter. The silence drags on for another minute. “Maybe I should-“

“Would you like some coffee?” Fjord interrupts. 

“Sure,” Caleb says, and there’s an uncertainty in his eyes when Fjord stands. “I could make it, if you’d like.”

“Naw, it’s fine. Here, you’ve been standing since you came in,” Fjord says, gesturing to his chair as he moves to the counter. “You like it strong and dark?”

“What?” Caleb snaps, his face red down to his neck. 

“Your coffee?”

“Ja,” Caleb confirms, settling into the chair. He starts paging through the book, too focused to be reading. Fjord’s watched Caleb flip through ten pages in a minute. He’s gone and made it fucking awkward is what he’s done. Caleb was going to say he should just leave and Fjord’s trapped him in the apartment with social obligation to accept at least one cup of coffee.

He’s kicking himself internally as he sets the coffee to percolating. Fjord didn’t want Caleb to just not be here when Nott arrives. He’d have to explain that Caleb had dropped off the book and then just left, then he’d have to say why and come up with some lie about how Caleb was in a rush, but it isn’t like Caleb will have any reason to lie to Nott when he tells her that Fjord’s being an awkward piece of shit around him. This is what he gets for catching feelings like he’s sixteen again. 

“Fjord?”

He jumps and spins to face Caleb who is now holding both hands up in placation. “What?” It comes out with more of a snap than he intends.

“You were, that is, I could hear you were grinding your teeth rather... rather loudly.” 

Fjord consciously relaxes his jaw. Still more bad habits. “Sorry, just got to day dreaming. Tend to go grinding when I’m not paying attention.”

“It’s okay.” Caleb rubs his arm with his hand, still just a few feet away. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Fjord?”

“What? No,” Fjord says, and he can’t even convince himself that it comes out even toned. “No, Caleb, it’s just been a weird couple days.”

“You are shaking,” Caleb observes, and damned if he isn’t right. Fjord forces his foot to stop bouncing. “Fjord, I can just come back later.”

“No,” Fjord says, pleading. “Caleb, Nott’s going to be by in an hour. You can just watch tv and drink your coffee or read the plays you bought or something. Let me take my piss-poor mood to my room. You can relax in the apartment til Nott gets home.”

“I’m not going to invade your space,” Caleb says, firm. “It’s no bother. You are clearly feeling put-out and that is fine. This is your space and I am invading it, you need to have a place that is just yours sometimes.”

Fjord reaches out, slowly enough that Caleb could step back or tell him to stop if he wanted, and takes Caleb’s shoulders in a gentle grip. “Caleb, honest, it’s fine.”

“You do not look fine,” Caleb says, meeting his eyes. “You do not owe an explanation, but I cannot help but notice I may have crossed a line when I hugged you the other day. I should not have done that, I am sorry.”

“What? That was fine, Caleb, really.” They’re very close now. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, you just surprised me. I’m glad you liked the shirt.”

Heat is rolling off Caleb’s body at this distance. It rises off him and the smell, a cologne and musk and dry-cleaning mixture, hits Fjord’s nose. Not bad, definitely not bad, but heady. Fjord’s breath quickens. Caleb’s eyes are dark, the pupils blown out. He puts a hand out, palm against Fjord’s chest as though to establish a distance, but he’s not applying any force. Caleb licks his lips, “It was very funny. And... sweet.”

Fjord takes a deeper breath than he really needs to, breathing in the heat and musk as he feels himself leaning in closer. “Yeah?” His head is swimming, the words that come to his mouth too smooth to have any of the forethought he ought to be having, “I think I know something sweeter.”

He’s not sure who surges forward first, but he has his lips against Caleb’s in half a second. The difference in their heights isn’t as bad as he had thought it might be—and now that he’s doing it he can admit to thinking about it. There is force in Caleb’s push against his chest now, a gentle shove until the counter is digging against Fjord’s ass. They pull away for a second, catching their breath. Fjord hops up to sit on the counter, urging Caleb forward with his calf. He leans into another kiss, cupping Caleb’s face in his hands. Caleb’s arms are slung loosely around Fjord’s waist. The wiry bristle of a beard is a pleasant burn against Fjord’s face as they move together. He rubs soft circles into Caleb’s cheeks with his thumbs. 

Fjord starts to pull back to wet his lips when Caleb chases after, rocking up onto his toes, with his tongue just out, tasting Fjord’s lips. The feel of it sends a hot coil of desire straight through him. He can feel Caleb’s hands on him, at his waist then up his back. Clutching his shirt, tangling in his hair. Fjord keeps his hands on either side of Caleb’s face, holding him, just touching him. The topography of his cheek bones, the not-stubble not-yet-smooth drag of beard, the slightly stiff feel of hair that’s got product holding it in place. He’s not a fresh out of the shower porn star, his lips aren’t primped and lush. The slightly chapped lips against his own are just perfectly real.

The counter gives an unsettling creak.

They both stiffen, pulling away wide eyed. Fjord laughs first, Caleb joining. He tucks his head against Fjord’s neck and shoulder to chuckle, his smile pressing against the ticklish skin there. Fjord scratches at the back of Caleb’s neck, “I should probably, uh, get down from here before I ruin the deposit.”

“Ja,” Caleb says, not moving.

“No offense, but I don’t think you’re going to be carrying me off of here.”

Caleb sighs, breathing in against Fjord’s neck before stepping back enough for Fjord to slide to his feet. They both give a quick glance over the counter, but it doesn’t look like there is any visible damage to it. Fjord starts to duck into another kiss when Caleb puts both hands to Fjord’s shoulders and holds him back. “Ah, sorry, I am going to kill the mood if that’s okay.”

Fjord blushes hard, but steps back enough to let them both cool down. “Sure. Was that... was that alright?”

“Oh yes,” Caleb says, and there’s an emphasis there that has Fjord wanting to step right back in, but he resists at the serious expression Caleb still has across his face and posture. A seriousness only a little belied by his flush and the pinkness of his lips. “I just... forgive me if I didn’t expect this to. Hm. I. We are in very different circumstances, Fjord. I don’t want to be taking advantage.”

Fjord frowns, “Caleb, I’m not a kid. I’ve had a full time job for five years. I’m not some fresh out of high school college freshman hooking up with a professor.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. I just mean that—oh fuck me, this isn’t coming out right at all. You just seemed very upset with me for buying you things before and I don’t want you to be...”

“‘Paying you back’?” Fjord offers.

“Yes, that. I... honest, Fjord, I am not trying to be the creepy old man trying to pick up a, ah, ‘college honey.’”

Fjord laughs, an explosive thing that has him clutching his stomach. “Please,” he says, wiping his eye with his hand, “never say ‘college honey’ ever again.”

“I mean it,” Caleb says, “that is not what I was trying to do.”

“What were you trying to do, then?” Fjord asks, punching down his nerves and his anxiety for the moment. He schools his features into some semblance of serious. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Caleb, but why?”

Caleb shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “I was reminded a bit of myself. And a bit of Nott. When I was in high school, I was selected for a program. It was very prestigious, but my parents were not very... affluent. It was a difficult time. I wouldn’t call it pity, but I could empathize with your position, and I have the means, so I thought it was the good thing to do.”

“And the kiss?”

“You are very attractive, Fjord.”

Caleb’s delivery, all statement of fact, cracks Fjord’s resolve and he laughs. “You’re not exactly one foot in the grave, either. So if that’s all there is?”

“I would very much like to kiss you again.”

Fjord closes the gap. They end up on the couch, Fjord sinking into the cushions with Caleb kneeling over him with his knees on either side of Fjord’s waist. It’s nice, to lose himself in the feeling of another body against his own, the heat of them both merging and insulated between their chests. Somehow Caleb’s shirt comes untucked and Fjord’s t-shirt is rucked up almost to his chest. Caleb’s hair is hopelessly ruffled and Fjord can only guess at the state of his own. Fjord’s lips are tender and swollen and he’s more than a little light-headed, but god if it isn’t a welcome reprieve to be out of his own head, just for a moment or a minute or an hour.

An hour.

Fuck.

“Cay,” he mumbles, leaning away. Caleb hums against him, and the frazzled look he gets is a bit of its own reward, but he continues, “what time is it?”

“Scheiße,” Caleb yelps, sitting up so fast his ass comes down hard on Fjord’s groin. Fjord wheezes in pain as Caleb disentangles from him, checking his watch. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, straightening his shirt. “I’ll be right back, sorry.”

Fjord is blinking owlishly, one hand holding his knocked goods as Caleb dashes to the bathroom. He’s pulled his shirt back down and is pushing his hair back into place when he hears the front door unlatch. He’s trying to think of something to say when Nott pokes her head into the kitchen, looks about for a second before finding Fjord prone on the couch. 

“Fjord? Where’s Caleb?”

Fjord makes a show of looking around, playing up the fog that’s still leaving his brain as the blood retreats from his nethers and back toward his head. “Uh, sorry I was taking a nap while he was reading,” he fibs on the fly. “He should be around here somewhere.”

“Uh huh,” Nott says, poking over the open poetry book. “Maybe you should have finished your coffee and you wouldn’t have needed the nap,” she says evenly.

Fjord’s eyes snap to the counter where there are still two cups by the machine, untouched and full of cold coffee. “Uh, yeah, I guess I just got distracted. I was reading the sonnets with Caleb and, you know, you get tired reading black lines on white paper. Must have forgotten I made coffee at all. It happens.”

“Of course,” she says. “Where did Caleb put my book?”

Caleb steps out from the hallway, mostly put together. “On the counter there,” he says, pointing. “Sorry, I had to use the toilet.”

“Normal people call it a bathroom,” Nott says, rolling her eyes as she takes the textbook and shoves it into her bag. 

“Most of them don’t even have a bath,” Caleb says. He gives her a hug, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “How was your day?”

“Oh, busy. I still have another class to get to.” She sniffs the air. “Are you wearing a different deodorant?”

“No?” Caleb says, blushing. 

“Hm,” Nott ponders, “must have been something that rubbed off on you.” She roots through the fridge for a moment, pulling out one of the little bags of snacks she hides in the crisper. “Anyway, I have to head out. Thanks for the book, Caleb, you’re the best.”

“Not as good as you,” Caleb says, smiling as Nott scurries out with a wave for Fjord. The door clicks softly. He turns to Fjord, eyes just a little haunted. “Well, she knows something is up.”

“You sure?” Fjord asks. “She’s always just kind of like that around me.”

“Oh she knows,” Caleb says firmly, taking a seat at the table. Fjord stands from the couch and takes the chair across from Caleb. 

“I mean, little weird for her to know what’s up if, uh, I don’t really know what’s up.” Fjord sucks on his teeth. “It doesn’t have to, uh, it doesn’t have to be a whole thing if you just want to...”

“Want to?” Caleb asks. He’s got that smart-ass smile on, though. 

“If you’re just looking to get laid, I’m all right with that, Caleb. Not right this second, but I mean, you have my number.”

“Is that what you want?” Caleb asks. 

Fjord shrugs, “I’ve got classes, you have your job. I get it, Caleb. I like you, you like me, we’re both gay.”

Caleb’s lips twitch, but he says nothing.

Fjord’s confidence wanes. “Or we can just keep making out, if that’s what you’re into.”

“Fjord, you are taking what I want into consideration, but what do _you_ want? I enjoyed that, of course, but is this just that we both like men and we both like each other and we get along? Would you like me to take you out? I enjoy spending time with you.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything more than what you’ve done,” Fjord says, hurried and anxious.

“You haven’t really asked me anything,” Caleb states. He rolls his shoulders, not shrugging so much as flexing some imagined weight. “I would like very much to know you better, Fjord. I don’t know when I will be free or you will be free, but I can be in touch, if you like?”

“Yeah, that’d be just fine,” Fjord says, flexing his hand on the table. “Did you have to go?”

“Ah, yes, I do. I wasn’t in a hurry because of Nott, or, not just because of Nott. I have to hurry to finish a statement for one of my clients’ estates by midnight.”

“Well shit,” Fjord says, standing, “don’t let me keep you. Go, get gone.”

“It’s all right,” Caleb says, but he’s not dragging his feet as he makes his way to the door to get his shoes on. “I’ll text you when I get the emails all sorted out. Sort out some free time.”

“We’ll make it work,” Fjord says, mustering some confidence as Caleb stomps his heel into his shoe and stands with one hand on the door knob. 

Caleb plants a chaste kiss on his lips before starting out the door. “Ja, we’ll make it work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am always looking to make sure my work is accessible, but I’m also on the fence as to where the line is between Teen and Mature. Kissing seems pretty safely PG13, though.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau, Jester, and Molly have some input. Also Molly has some bridge repairing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic assumes Fjord, Jester, and Beau were friends a fair bit longer than they were really friends with Molly and Yasha the first year, and they’ve all been friends for several months longer than they’ve even known Caleb or Nott. I have some vague ideas about what the first year was like, but I do not have it in me to write that whole thing so you get implications and loose-context call-backs.

Fjord sips his coffee slowly, doing his best not to roll his eyes as, for the third time, Beau asks, “So wait, you’re dating your roommate’s brother?”

“You can keep asking that and I’m gonna keep answering: yes.”

Beau snorts, “Considering the last I heard about him your roommate was bitching about how you thought he was a rich prick, you can maybe forgive my disbelief?”

Fjord sighs, stirs his coffee, and levels a look at her. “I didn’t exactly plan for it all to go down like this.”

“Going down already? Little fast for you, Mr. Responsible. Shouldn’t you be waiting for the third date?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you knew that, so why’re you telling _me_ first, of all your friends?” Beau has a point. She’s still an asshole, but she does have a point.

Clicking his molars as he mulls it over, he shrugs. “You’re an ass, but you’re also not going to judge me for it.”

“Who would? Jester’s just going to get all up in your business about it, Yasha’s not going to give a shit, and who fucking cares what Molly thinks?” 

“Look, maybe judge was the wrong word. You’re not going to sugarcoat it if you think this is a godawful idea.” Fjord hides his chagrin as he looks her in the eyes, “Do you think this is a shit idea?”

Beau stretches loudly, cracking her back. “Dude, I do not give a single shit about who you’re boning. Who cares if it’s a bad idea? Worst that happens is you get laid once in what... two years? Three? Molly and I have a bet going, is it more than three?”

“I thought you hated Molly,” Fjord grouses. 

“Hating him would require stronger feelings than I am willing to muster. So I’m going with three, Molly says more, loser has to jump in the fountain naked.”

Fjord frowns, narrowing his eyes, “None of your business, so you can both go streaking. Now, am I crazy for saying I want to date this guy or what?”

“You’re no fun. Anyway, if you’re looking for me to tell you it’s a bad idea, keep looking. I’m not going to feed into your fucked up anxiety spiral, man, this isn’t even that weird. He’s only like ten years older than you-“

“Twelve,” Fjord says.

Beau glares at him, but continues, “So like ten years. My parents are fifteen years apart. Jester’s mom’s regularly boning dudes her daughter’s age now that she’s retired, according to Jester and her mom’s Skype conversations—which are loud and entirely too public. So if you wanna have some fun and he wants to have fun, go for it. If you’re looking to pick out curtains and settle down, fucking go for it. Just, you know, talk to him about it. Fuck.”

“If it weren’t for your near constant profanity, you’d be a pretty good therapist,” Fjord says.

Beau shrugs, “I am a font of wisdom. It’s the years of beating the shit out of people. I’ve reached zen levels of don’t-give-a-fuck.”

“Well it’s much appreciated regardless.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says. She stands to trash her cup, but pauses beside Fjord to pat his shoulder in an unexpected show of affection. “I owe you for last year, anyway. You helped me figure out how to talk to people a little better. Sure as shit saved me from strangling Jester to death when she insisted on reading those fucking romance novels out loud before bed every night.”

“It’s nothing,” Fjord says , getting up to follow her back to her dorm.

“It’s not,” she says, and walks off.

—-

“You’re taking this pretty in-stride,” Fjord says.

Jester looks up from the paper on which she is meticulously gluing stars, glitter, and laminated cut-outs. “You already said he was taking you out on a date.”

“That was pretty clearly a joke.”

“And yet,” she says, and returns to sticking as many reflective trifles to a piece of computer paper as she can fit. Her RA had already yelled at her once for gluing shit directly to the door, but Jester is not one to be dissuaded by the letter of the law. 

“Do you absolutely need to cover our door with this stuff?” Beau asks her bed.

“I’m expressing myself! It’s an important part of development, we covered it in class.”

“Aren’t you taking childhood development? Emphasis on child?”

Jester purses her lips and starts writing out her name in blue glitter glue across the whole mess. “Technically the brain isn’t fully developed until you’re in your twenties, so maybe you could probably let me do this, probably.”

Fjord, who has kept his hands in his pockets from the moment he saw glitter was out, shrugs at Beau’s glare for him to back her up. “It isn’t hurting anyone.”

“Fjord, I pick glitter out of my hair for weeks whenever she breaks that shit out. And not always the hair on my head, dude. It gets everywhere.”

“I’m being careful this time!” She very deliberately caps the salt-shaker style glitter dispenser. With a flounce, she takes her updated name tag and a roll of clear tape and walks out the door.

Fjord turns to Beau. “I kinda expected a little more... excitement?”

“Dude, she’s going to fucking explode into giggles and speculation the second you leave. She needs time to think up suitably embarrassing questions for you before she gets into it.” 

“I wasn’t under the impression Jester was big on forethought,” Fjord says.

Beau shrugs. “She’s been busy working on ways to fuck with the RA for like a week. Her limited attention span is pretty frayed.”

—-

Fjord is in class on Monday when he gets a text. He isn’t going to be scolded like a teenager, so he doesn’t act like a teenager and instead waits until class is over to check his texts. His emergency contacts are set to ring, so it’s not urgent. After he takes his bag, checks under his chair for anything he might have dropped, and files out into the tunnels before pulling out his phone.

Widogast, Esq.: “I have an hour free on Tuesday. Lunch?”

They’ve been texting on and off since Friday, trying to find a time to meet up. As of yesterday, the week had been a bust since Caleb was faced with another long-standing family feud making him rework and plan out no less than four separate wills. Honestly, Fjord has been expecting another question from Jester about what Caleb’s dick looks like rather than a date update. He types back, “Tomorrow or next Tuesday?”

The reply is almost instantaneous. “Tomorrow.” Then another, “No pressure.”

Fjord steps into a small alcove to let the foot traffic pass by i impeded. “What time? I’m free around 1.”

The response comes a few minutes later as Fjord is making his way back into the sunlight. “1 works. May I pick you up?”

“I don’t think you have the arm strength, but you can drive us there. Meet me at the apartment?”

“You are something of an ass. Your apartment, tomorrow, 1 o’clock.”

Fjord sends back a “Sounds great.” with a smile emoji and trots back to his apartment. Or, he intends to, but he catches sight of Molly at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The polite thing to do is to say hello. He walks up to the other man and nudges him with his elbow, “Hey, Moll.”

Molly turns sharply, then smiles when he realizes who it is. He looks up at Fjord with hooded eyes, “Well fancy meeting you here, stranger.”

“Yeah, I thought you and sunlight didn’t jive ever since you sold your soul for perfect eyeliner wings,” Fjord says. It’s easy, just normal conversation. Nothing charged or accusatory. 

Molly’s smile broadens, showing off his overly sharp canines. “We have an agreement, you see. I spend as little time in it as possible and it doesn’t burn me to ashes. But enough about the dark pacts that secure my irresistible charm and the consequences thereof, how have you been?” 

“Oh, you know, fine,” Fjord says, dancing around the subject of Caleb.

“Mm, so a little bird told me something interesting...” Molly says, trailing off.

_God dammit, Jester._

“She said she wasn’t able to get how long your current dry-spell’s been. Now, I said four years at least, she’s saying three or fewer.”

_Sorry, Jester._ Fjord frowns down at Molly as they cross with a flock of other students. “I told Beau you could both go jump in the fountain, I thought she’d be pretty eager to pass that one along.”

“Oh come on,” Molly needles, “no judgement, the people are just dying to know.”

“Then die,” Fjord says abruptly, then falters at his own sharpness. “Uh, not you, specifically.”

“Oof, someone’s touchy,” Molly says, clutching his heart. His smile hasn’t slipped, which is a bit of a shame. “I _know_ you didn’t get any last year. I doubt you got any over the summer with how uptight you are. Just sate my curiosity, would you? I won’t even tell Beau.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Fjord muses, still walking leisurely. 

“Oh, but satisfaction brought him back.” Molly pulls in front of him, walking backwards. “What’s the harm? Virginity’s nothing to be ashamed of, neither’s sex.”

“I ain’t ashamed,” Fjord says, resisting the urge to guide Molly into a street light. “I just don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

“It’s not,” Molly admits. “The fact that you won’t tell me is only making me want to know more, though. Why’s it got to be a secret? I never hid anything from you!”

“And because of that, I know you’re not circumcised. I would, in fact, prefer you hide a little more than you have from me.”

Molly turns in time to avoid a small group of girls walking down the sidewalk, falling back into step with Fjord. “What if I said please?”

“You’d be polite while asking invasive questions,” Fjord says, rolling his eyes.

“We roomed for eight months, Fjord,” Molly says. “We’re like brothers.”

Fjord furrows his brow, side-eyeing Molly as hard as he can. “I _do not_ want to know why you think that’s gonna make me more open about my sex life with you.”

“Brothers tell each other all sorts of inappropriate shit,” Molly says. “How about this, you tell me and not only will I not share it with Beau, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me. I’m an open book.”

Fjord sighs. “Fine. Last time I had sex was three years ago, to the month. Enjoy your dip in the fountain.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” Molly says, grinning. “So what’s your question? Is it gonna be naughty?”

Fjord purses his lips, thinking real hard. “Why do you keep pissing people off on purpose? You’re too damn smart to not know what you’re doing.”

Molly brightens in a way that Fjord knows is him preparing to deflect. “People are interesting when they’re pissed. You get a real feel for who they are, deep down.”

“You get a feel for how they react to being pissed,” Fjord counters. “And that wasn’t an answer.”

“I want to know how people are going to act, if they’ll behave themselves or if they can’t take a little light-hearted ribbing.”

Fjord’s face is going to stick like this. “So when someone snaps at you, it looks bad on them, then.”

“Says the snapper himself,” Molly says lightly.

“We’re friends, Molly. So I’m asking you, as your friend, to cut it out.” 

“Your wish is my command,” Molly says, curtsying. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Fjord shrugs, “Maybe even second or third best behavior. I’m not asking for a miracle.”

“Well,” Molly says, trailing. His smirk is back. “If I promise to be on my very best behavior, do I get to meet Caleb?”

Fjord flushes. _Goddammit, Jester._ “You don’t get to meet Caleb until you apologize to Nott for being a shit.”

“Hm, didn’t see you making that demand before you started dating Caleb... does he mean that much to you, then?”

“Nott means a lot to him,” Fjord corrects. “If you want to make a good impression then you can start by apologizing to Nott.”

“Well I can’t do that if you never invite me over,” Molly says. “You’re heading back to your apartment now, right?”

Fjord sighs, “I’m not telling you to fuck off, but we agreed to give each other a heads up before bringing people over. She says she doesn’t care, but-“

“But nothing then, what’s the harm if she doesn’t care?”

Fjord has about three hard no’s in him a week and he doesn’t feel like this is quite worth it, so when he opens the door to his apartment he shouts, “Hey, Nott, I’ve got company!”

“I’m right here,” Nott says, just beyond the entrance to the kitchen.

“Sorry,” he says, lowering his voice. “Uh, I ran into Molly on the way back. Is it all right if he hangs out for a bit?”

Nott steps into view, looking them both up and down. “That’s fine.”

Fjord starts to ask if she’s sure when Molly struts forward, hand outstretched. “Good afternoon, I heard we got off on the wrong foot.”

She looks at his hand, then tentatively takes it in her own. “Good afternoon,” she says lightly. 

“So I would like to apologize,” Mollymauk says, walking past Nott and into the kitchen as Fjord kicks off his shoes and joins them. “Clearly I made you uncomfortable and I am sorry.”

Nott eyes him suspiciously, then looks to Fjord who can only shrug. “Apology accepted?”

“Wonderful,” Molly says, stopping in the middle of the kitchen, between the table and the back of the couch in the living room. “I never come unprepared, though. How about a little apology reading?”

Fjord sighs, knowing what’s coming. Molly, of course, is smiling brightly as he pulls a deck of tarot cards from his jacket pocket. “I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Fjord starts, but Nott holds up a hand.

“Sure,” she says, taking a seat at the table. “Let’s see what you can get from the cards.”

Molly takes a seat across from her while Fjord just leans against the counter. He gives the deck a quick shuffle, looking into Nott’s eyes. “How about a quick three card draw? Past, present, and future?”

“Fine,” she says, looking at Molly’s fingers as he cuts and shuffles. 

Molly nods and gives a few more cursory shifts before laying the top three cards face down on the table and setting the deck down beside them. “Shall we start with the past?”

“Where else?”

“Alright,” he says, and with a delicately painted nail, he flips the first card. “I see, the Five of Pentacles. Adversity, struggle. A rough time in your life, I’m sure. I see... financial difficulties,” Molly says, eyes closed dramatically. “Times were tough, but you weren’t alone.”

Fjord watches Molly’s theatrics, but spies a flicker of movement on the table. He looks to Nott, but her arms are folded almost under her as she leans in to look at the card. She catches his stare and quirks an eyebrow at him. He shrugs as Molly reaches out again, opening his eyes to look at the next card.

“And the present, we have the Three of Wands. I see opportunity, I see new things and small conflicts. In a better place than you were before.” He looks to Nott, who has her face carefully blank, but her lips twitch. Molly grins. “I bet I’m right there, and I have a feeling about the future, too. I see bright things, perhaps even something as good as the Ten of-“ he falters. The third card is the Ace of Cups. 

“Ten of Wands?” Nott asks. Fjord and Molly look to her. She leans back, uncrossing her arms to show the card face up beneath her. “Your trick shuffling could use some work,” she says, handing the card back to him.

Molly takes it, smiling. “Oh, I like you. What gave it away?”

“You let me see the bottom card. Every other time you cut the deck it was the same one. You were holding you place.”

“And where’d you learn street magic?”

“Where does anyone learn it? The street,” she says.

Molly laughs, “Look at this, we’re learning about each other.”

Nott cracks a smile. “Only because you’re an amateur.”

“Or am I? Maybe that was the trick, hm?”

“You are not nearly as smooth as you think you are,” Nott says. “Where did you learn shoddy card tricks?”

“Never tell a story for free,” Molly says, shuffling the cards back into the deck idly. “I’ll trade, though.”

“And Fjord gets to what, enjoy the show?”

Fjord lifts both hands to his shoulders, palm out, “Woah, don’t go dragging me into this.”

“Are you going to just dash off to your room, then?” Molly asks.

Nott opens her mouth, then her eyes gleam and she blurts out, “Make a Fjord Escape?”

Fjord rolls his entire head with his eyes. “Don’t you start.”

“If you pack appropriately, you could call it a Fjord Expedition,” she adds. Molly throws his head back and laughs. Fjord sticks his tongue at her, petulantly, but at least everyone is laughing. “Oh, oh, if you packed party supplies it could be a Fjord Fiesta!”

As obnoxious as it is, Fjord is glad for anything that makes living with Nott easier. If that means half a dozen puns about his name, he will make this sacrifice. In the end, all talk of exchanging stories is forgotten in favor of coming up with more elaborate ways of creating a Ford pun off any conceivable action Fjord could take. Fifteen minutes of teasing later, Fjord feels the humming thread of anxiety that had wound itself up so tightly about his own friendship with Molly—not to mention Molly’s relationship with Nott—finally unwinding. 

He’s showing Molly out under the pretense of needing to get some studying done, but he’s also just hoping to end this exchange on a high note. “I’m glad Nott calling your bullshit was a plus to you.”

“Of course,” Molly says, brushing Fjord’s shoulder as he steps out the door. He peeks around him to make sure she’s not in the immediate area. “She’s a delightful little liar. You can trust a liar, the Truth is so much trickier.”

Fjord doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just nods. “Well, see you around.”

“And I expect to hear all about Caleb next we meet, even if you won’t let me get a look at him.”

Fjord rolls his eyes, and it’s a miracle they haven’t rolled right out his head given how often he’s done it in under an hour. “Sure thing, Molly.”

When he closes the door, he’s smiling though. One less thing to worry about. It leaves his night completely open to overthinking the coffee date tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming later tonight.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb and Fjord go on a date. They talk. Despite how heavily I rely on Shakespeare, I refuse to make this a comedy of errors, Straight Rom-Com Miscommunication Tropes Do NOT Interact.
> 
> Also, I am posting this chapter pretty quickly after the previous one. If the last thing you read was Caleb and Fjord kissing, check chapter 13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some discussions of sex and sexuality this chapter, mostly concerning Caleb.

Fjord has his backpack off and is facedown on his bed at 12:50pm on Tuesday afternoon. He could have said 1:30. He could have said he wasn’t free. There have not been enough hours between agreeing to the date and the date itself—he has at least eight more hours of second-guessing to go before he’s worked through the worst of it, but Caleb is going to call or text him any minute now. 

Fjord takes a breath. He’s not going to treat a date like an interview, per se, but he can at least get a similar mask in place. They already know a fair bit about each other, this isn’t a blind date. It’s like he’s done his research. No crazy surprises waiting for him, not really. He takes another breath. Okay. He stands up and straightens his shirt. It’s a nice enough button-down. His only button-down. He’s pretty sure Caleb will notice, but he hopes he’ll at least keep the observation to himself.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Fjord decides against brushing his teeth a second time and checks the text.

Widogast, Esq.: “I am outside if you are ready.”

Fjord types back, “Be right out.” and slides his shoes onto his feet. His wallet is in his back right pocket, his phone in the front right, and his keys in his front left. Everything he needs. He takes a fortifying breath and steps out the door, locking it behind him.

It doesn’t take long to spot Caleb’s car, especially since the man himself is standing outside it and waving from the parking lot. Fjord smiles and gives a quick wave back. 

“Are you ready?” Caleb asks at Fjord’s approach. The man’s wearing a full suit and Fjord sweats a little. Caleb looks down at himself then back to Fjord. “Oh, I had to come from work. The ah, the cafe doesn’t have a dress code.”

“Right, right,” Fjord says, moving to the passenger side. “Just admiring the look you’ve got there.”

Caleb nods, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. It’s enough to help deflate the nervousness in Fjord’s chest a little. “Thank you,” he says, and slips into the car. Once Fjord is buckled, Caleb checks the mirrors and pulls out. “I hope you don’t mind going a little ways off campus. There is a new place down Washington, near a bookstore.”

“I’ve got time,” Fjord says, watching the right side for pedestrians as Caleb looks both ways and pulls onto the main road. “So. You came from work?”

“Ja,” Caleb says, not taking his eyes off the road. “I had some time between meetings, and nothing too pressing to get done, so what’s a two hour lunch in the mean time, hm?”

“Sure,” Fjord says, pressing his palms to his knees. “You, uh, you didn’t have to do this—take time out of your day. I don’t mind waiting.”

“I wanted to see you,” Caleb says, easy as anything. 

“I appreciate it,” Fjord says. “Really, though, the anticipation doesn’t bother me any. Lord knows we’ve both got our plates full. Don’t go shuffling things around for me.”

Caleb hums, sparing a quick glance his way. It’s an acknowledgement, but not really an affirmation. They don’t say much as Caleb concentrates on driving, watching the road and checking the street signs for the ten minutes it takes to arrive. Caleb parks on the street, and while it’s not the worst attempt at parallel parking Fjord’s ever seen, he’d be lying if he said it was anywhere close to good. Caleb clears his throat, flushed pink as he creeps his car forward a few inches, turns the wheel sharply, and backs into place only a little crooked. “There.”

“Looking good,” Fjord says, voice even as he unbuckles.

Caleb gives him a level look, but lets it go and parks the car, pulling up the brake. “It’s just over here.”

The cafe is just a step above hole-in-the-wall, a chalk sign outside the door with pink writing and drawings indicating the specials. The general customer base appears to be people more like Jester or Molly than Caleb. “I didn’t know this was your kind of place,” Fjord says as they approach.

Caleb smiles, “There is a lot you don’t know about me. And I about you.”

“Fair,” Fjord says, and lets Caleb lead the way inside. There are only a few people in the cafe itself, most content to grab-and-go. The chief barista is a tall man, taller than Fjord, but practically gaunt. He’s got the “liberal arts” undercut with a long, pink cascade of hair down past his left shoulder. He looks to be in charge of the three, green-uniformed teenagers running the espresso machine and pastry case as he takes orders and hands them off. The woman in front of Caleb orders her latte and steps to the side.

Fjord steps up beside Caleb at the register to look at the hand-written board behind the barista—Clay, if the name tag is to be believed. Caleb takes half a second to scan the board and turns to Fjord, “What would you like?”

Before Fjord can say anything, the barista speaks up. “Could I interest either of you in the tea of the day?”

“Uh, what is it?” Fjord asks.

Clay smiles, eyes heavily lidded, and gestures to the sign behind him. “My favorite is the loose Jasmine. It’s real great, nice and fresh. Good smell.”

Fjord takes a surreptitious sniff of the air, but between the coffee, the muffins, and the slightly burnt smell from the espresso machine, he can’t really get anything off the barista. “I’ll just have a medium coffee, extra cream, a little sugar.”

“Large black for me,” Caleb adds. “A, ah, an onion bagel, lox and cream cheese. Fjord?”

“Oh, uh, ham and cheese on a croissant?” It’s probably going to be absolutely horrendous for his heart, but it was the first thing he saw. 

“Yeah, got it,” Clay says, passing it off to his worker bees. “Is that all or can I interest you in something else?”

“I am all right,” Caleb says, looking to Fjord before confirming.

“Great, great. That’ll be eighteen oh-eight. Unless you’re paying separately? No, you’re not paying separately. That’s eighteen oh-eight,” he says, looking to Caleb. Fjord’s too bewildered by the man’s apparent conversation with himself to protest when Caleb hands him a card, but Fjord recovers enough to have his wallet out and stuff a few dollars into the tip jar when the receipt prints. 

Caleb just nods at him and signs the receipt. They stand to the side as they wait for their order, Caleb leaning on the counter away from Fjord. It doesn’t seem entirely deliberate, but it’s established a distance between them. Fjord respects it, even though he’d like to step closer. 

“You look nervous, Fjord,” Caleb says, looking up at him.

Fjord frowns self consciously, “What? No. I was just thinking. I’ve got resting skittish face.”

“Like a horse?” Caleb asks. Fjord looks at him, perplexed. “You know, a horse always looks frightened. Their eyes.”

“Caleb, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Surely you’ve seen a horse before,” Caleb asserts.

“What, because I’ve got a drawl I’m some kinda cowboy? I’m a sailor, horses don’t generally swim much.”

Caleb opens his mouth, but Fjord’s smile breaks through before he can start. “You are cheeky,” Caleb says, swatting Fjord’s arm lightly. 

“Large black, medium cream and sugar, onion bagel with lox, and an ‘h’ and ‘c’ on a croissant,” one of the workers calls at the counter, barely making eye contact as they drop off the order and get right back to making coffee. 

Caleb grabs the bag and the large mug, looking to Fjord as he start to walk toward a table, “Do you kind of we sit back here?”

“No, not at all,” Fjord says, grabbing his coffee and following after. Caleb takes the table at the very back, set against the corner. It’s not quite secluded, but it’s definitely more inconspicuous. Nobody would be able to see them from the front of the cafe, and they’d probably even have difficulty from the bar if they weren’t looking directly at the corner. Fjord gets it. Even up north it’s not really great to be public about some stuff.

Caleb visibly relaxes once he has his back to the wall, his grip loosening on the ceramic mug once he’s sitting. “Much better,” he mutters, taking a sip. 

“Yeah,” Fjord says neutrally, giving his own cup a sniff before tasting it. It’s good, still hot despite the extra cream, which means they used warm cream like a competent coffee brewer. It doesn’t taste too sharp, nor too sweet. Fjord gives it a solid eight to eight and a half out of ten; maybe a very generous nine, but there’s nothing really special about it and Fjord doesn’t want to skew his coffee ratings by giving every decent coffee a high score. “Thank you for paying.”

“I had invited you,” Caleb says. “Is that not the tradition?”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Fjord says, sheepish. “But thank you,” he reaffirms, because he’s not going to fuck this up by being weird about Caleb paying for things. Caleb’s a grown-ass man who can spend his money how he likes. 

“You are welcome.” Caleb sets their sandwiches on the table. His knees knock against Fjord’s once, then he pulls his chair back a few inches. No chance of accidental contact. Silence drags on for a moment as they both take a bite from their respective lunches. “I was hoping you would be, ah, amenable to... to discussing what you would like.”

Fjord swallows, both the croissant and his nerves. “What I’d like?”

“Yes. From me, from this,” Caleb says, gesturing between them. “What kind of, ah, arrangement you would like this to be?”

“A little serious a conversation for lunch,” Fjord says, fully aware he’s evading.

“Heavy conversation over a light lunch,” Caleb says and shrugs. “We do not have to talk about it now.”

“Nah, it’s... fine. I just. Caleb, you’re saying you’re fine with this not being a casual thing, but you’re sending a few mixed messages here, if I’m being honest.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “I do not follow?”

Clicking his molars, Fjord leans in a bit, enough that conversation won’t travel far. It’s also a bit of a test to see if Caleb leans away again. He doesn’t, instead turning his head to better hear Fjord as he speaks. “I get it, I do. You’ve got a job, you don’t want people to talk about your personal life. I can keep this on the down low, if you want.”

“Fjord,” Caleb says, at a normal volume, “you are a beautiful man, but you are not making any sense to me. I am trying not to make you uncomfortable, so I’m trying to let you set the pace.”

“I’m sorry,” Fjord says, and Caleb lets out an exasperated, but humored laugh.

“Don’t apologize.” He pulls his chair back in to press their knees together under the table. “Just, try to stop thinking so much about what I want. I’m selfish, very selfish. If you don’t tell me what _you_ want,” he says, voice lowed in a way that is probably meant to be serious, but has Fjord’s heart rapping against his ribs, “how will I know what you don’t want me to take?”

Fjord flushes, his ears burning. “I figured we could, uh, just figure out what we both want and work inward from there.”

“Well,” Caleb says, “creating clear and concise language from obtuse nonsense is what I do. Let’s start with what both of us do not want and we can make a perimeter. I will start. I do not want this to be a one and done thing. If and when we engage in, ah, intercourse, I would prefer we have plans to do so again afterward.”

“Straight to the point, huh.”

“There was nothing straight about it.”

Fjord smirks, “I’m not the only cheeky one.”

“It’s not a crime. I would know.”

“Okay.” Fjord breathes, sips his coffee, and and looks into Caleb’s eyes. “If this is going to be a regular thing, and I do want that, then I don’t want it to be, uh, closeted.”

“You would never be a shameful secret, Fjord. That does bring up the question of Nott, but later. So, I do not want an open relationship.”

“Me either,” Fjord says, glad he wasn’t the one to bring it up. “Now, you know I’m going back to my uncle’s shipyard this summer. I don’t want you to feel like you need to, you know, wait for me. If that’s even an issue in eight months.”

“I’m not going to set an- an expiration date,” Caleb says. “You are falling back into what you don’t want for me, though. What do you not want for you, Fjord?”

“I suppose... I don’t want to be left in the dark. It’s a little stupid to bring it up, you text me whenever you get the chance, but I know sometimes I need to be left alone and do my own thing, figure out my own problems. I don’t always tell everyone when I just drop off the radar for a few days and I don’t want that to mean you’ll get disinterested.”

“That is hardly stupid,” Caleb says, polishing off his bagel. “You are allowed to have your space. Speaking of disinterest, though, I believe there is ah, something I should bring up. About myself here.”

“Shoot,” Fjord says, leaning back.

“Hah,” Caleb laughs, going pink. “Yes, well, this is part of why I thought to sit all the way back here, but it occurs to me now that maybe I would like it to be even more secluded without giving you the wrong idea.”

“We can talk later,” Fjord offers, a little concerned, but a lot curious. 

“No, this is fine. I just feel I should clarify that, if you wish to have a relationship with me that involves sexual intercourse, there may be times where I don’t... where I might appear uninterested. And it is not your fault, it doesn’t mean I _am_ uninterested—not in _you_. I just am not always, ah, in the mood.”

“That’s... that’s pretty reasonable to not want to f- have sex all the time, Caleb. I’m not going to pressure you into it or anything.”

“You misunderstand,” Caleb says, scratching his beard anxiously. “I enjoy... I would like to make you feel good, Fjord, but I want you to understand that I am not always, maybe not even frequently, going to have the same drive for myself. Or want you to reciprocate.”

Caleb has gone completely pink, and Fjord is doing his best not to stare as he processes the statement. “What was that about being selfish earlier?”

“Oh I am,” Caleb manages, regaining his normal pallor. “I can be very selfish. I don’t want to share you. Sometimes, though, that is in the past, people have mistaken a lack of interest in the act for a lack of interest in the person. I thought it would behoove me to get that out now.”

“It’s not a dealbreaker,” Fjord says, drawing it out as he mulls it over. “It might be a little weird for me, no offense.”

“I’m not offended now, nor will I be offended if you don’t want to continue afterward. Not to rush into anything,” Caleb adds hurriedly. 

“Well you seemed interested enough in kissing,” Fjord says, and shrugs. “If it works for you, it’ll probably work for me.”

“Good to hear.” 

The tension leaves the space, Caleb’s body language loosening. As they talk—about the seasons shifting, about cars, about the American education system—the casual touches are much more frequent. Caleb leans into Fjord’s touch when he smooths down the side of Caleb’s beard where he’d ruffled it earlier. Fjord brushes his fingers over Caleb’s where they’re flat against the table. 

Eventually Caleb looks down at his watch and realizes they’ve got to go. They clear out of the cafe, brushing past the short line at the register. Clay calls a short, “Good luck,” which is mildly inappropriate for a farewell in Fjord’s opinion.

When they reach Fjord’s apartment, Caleb parks and gets out with Fjord. He steps around the front, meeting him on the sidewalk. “Thank you for coming out with me,” Caleb says, one hand on Fjord’s lapel, just over his heart. 

“It was nice,” Fjord says, leaning down enough to put his mouth on Caleb’s. “Real nice.”

The kiss isn’t long, a few seconds at best, but it is enough to have Fjord’s heart skip a beat before Caleb steps back, wets his lips, and smiles. “I’ll text you later.”

“Can’t wait,” Fjord says, turning on his heels. He hears Caleb pull away behind him after a minute, tired crunching on the loose stones of the parking lot.

The door opens with a soft creak as Fjord lets himself back into the apartment. He walks through the kitchen, heading to his room. “Did you have fun with Caleb?”

Fjord jumps, clutches his chest, and spins on Nott. She’s smiling, perched on a stool with a glass of water. “Jesus Christ, Nott, you could- uh. You...”

“Caleb? Fun? Yes?” she prompts. It’s remarkable how threatening a girl her size can be while doing absolutely nothing.

“Look, we were going to tell you-“

“Fjord, it doesn’t take a detective, which by the way I’m studying to _be_ , to put the pieces of this whole big thing together. So. Did you have fun?”

Fjord swallows. “Yes?”

“Good, that’s good. I don’t have to tell you that I’ll literally kill you if you hurt him, right?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Right. Well, I have some reading to do. Talk to you later, Fjord.”

“Yep.” Fjord’s walks into his room, closing the door behind him. He checks his phone and sits on the edge of his bed. 

Jester: “Are you guys having sex yet?”

Fjord puts a hand on his face, falls back on the sheets, and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a good shovel talk, but I don’t think Nott has the creativity to go beyond “I will kill you” in this regard.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another date is scheduled, Yasha has some more lines, Nott is Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortish chapter, I just needed to get something out. Next one is going to be a lot of fun, though.

On Thursday, Fjord wakes up to a text from Caleb.

Widogast, Esq.: “Are you busy Saturday night?”

Fjord blinks at his phone a few times, rubbing his eyes as he pulls himself into a sitting position, the blankets pooling around his waist. He has a few essays to write up, but they don’t have to be done on Saturday. He has until 11:59pm Sunday to submit them. He’s already halfway through the one on As You Like It, he finished the Marine Bio essay the night it was assigned. “Yeah, I could be,” he types out.

He stretches, cracking his jaw with a yawn, and rolls to his feet to get dressed. As he pulls on his shirt with the university mascot—a Great Dane—emblazoned on the back, his phone buzzes. “Would you be amenable to getting dinner?”

Oh. “Sure. Where?”

He’s got his shoes on and is heading to the kitchen for a glass of water when the next comes. “I was thinking you could come to my apartment.”

Fjord: “You have a cat, right?”

Widogast, Esq.: “If you were free, I could have the apartment steam cleaned and restrict Frumpkin to the guest room.”

Fjord: “Or I could take a non-drowsy allergy pill before I show up and save you the trouble.”

Caleb’s bubble flashes for a few moments before he sends: “Or that.”

Fjord chuckles, then looks around for Nott. Not spotting her, he smiles to himself in the kitchen and types out: “Sounds real nice. What time? And send me your address.”

Widogast, Esq.: “I will be home at 6:30pm, so any time after that.”

Fjord sends a thumbs up and sets his phone down on the counter while he finishes his water, washes the glass, and finishes getting ready for the day. When he picks the phone up on his way out, the text waiting for him has the address and an attached google maps link showing the way from his apartment to Caleb’s. Fjord shakes his head, but he smiles all the way to his first class.

—-

Fjord meets Jester for lunch, and to his surprise, Yasha is waiting for them when they make their way to Jester’s favorite table. 

Fjord sits across from her, Jester taking a seat on his right at the square table. “Hey, Yasha.”

“Hello,” she says. She returns to her lunch.

Jester smiles at them both. Fjord lets it sit for a few second before opening his mouth, only for Jester to start talking. “So I was going to class and I saw Yasha walking by the campus center and I ran up to her, right? She was really easy to spot, you know, but she walks so fast. So I was running to catch up to her and then she stopped and I ran into her and dropped my bag and all my books went everywhere. Anyway, she said she could come get lunch with us and now she’s here!”

“... Interesting,” Fjord says. “It’s good to see you, Yasha. It’s been a bit.”

“Yeah,” Yasha says, looking more into the middle distance than usual. 

“I was trying to talk to her for like all week, but I guess her phone was off or something because she didn’t answer me.”

Yasha smiles tightly, and Fjord recognizes that look. He clears his throat. “So, what’ve you been up to in the mean while, Yasha? How’s that art instructor treating you?”

“Well enough, I suppose. I still have to wear that leotard, but I will endure.”

“You shouldn’t have to endure,” Jester insists. “You could do anything, Yasha! Have you considered camwhor-“

“-Camera work?” Fjord finishes, abruptly. “Remember last year when you had all those collages up? You could probably get a collection together for one of those student art shows.”

“I am not a student,” she says, not quite frigid, but a cold statement of fact regardless.

“Sure, but you work for the school. Faculty get to put some of their stuff up. Hell, you have all those pictures from the greenhouses and those gardens around the city. I’m sure you could put a thing together.”

“Ya ya! Like you could have all of your flower pictures set up like rows in a garden along the walls, and those lightning thingies you took, uhm... exposures! Put them on the ceiling or way high on the wall but blown up big. It would look really cool.”

Yasha frowns, maybe put off by the sharp focus on her, but she nods along. “I will have to think about it.”

“You should,” Jester says. “I was worried that maybe you were mad at me but that’s just silly. Right?”

“Oh, Jester, no,” Yasha says. “I just. I need to be alone sometimes.”

“But you don’t have to be alone! You have friends, and Beau, and-“

“Jester,” Fjord says easily, putting a hand on hers. “I think Yasha’s saying she wants to be by herself a bit. ‘She’ll call you,’ kind of deal?”

Jester frowns, but shakes her head a moment later, back to smiles. “Okay. Okay okay. That’s fine. I’m glad you came to lunch with us, though!”

“No problem,” Yasha says, returning to her food. She swallows, then looks up. “Ah, Fjord.”

“Yes?”

“Molly, he mentioned you were seeing someone?”

“Oh ya!” Jester interjects. “A _lawyer_!”

Fjord clears his throat, poking his teeth with his tongue. “Yeah. Caleb, Caleb Widogast, he’s my roommate’s brother. We met a few weeks ago and we kinda hit it off.”

“Is he nice?”

“Yeah, yeah he seems it.”

“That’s good,” Yasha says, and that seems enough.

Jester looks between them and lowers her voice to say, “He’s Fjord’s sugar daddy.”

Yasha and Fjord both choke on their food for a moment. Fjord recovers first. “He’s _not_ my sugar daddy!”

“ _He would be if you let him_ ,” Jester says, sing-song, primly finishing her milk.

“ _Well I won’t so he isn’t_ ,” Fjord sing-songs back through clenched teeth.”

Yasha just finishes her meal.

—-

Come Saturday, Fjord has finished the essay for the Shakespeare at fuck o’clock in the morning because he can’t stay asleep and the dreams are _relentless_ as of late. So that has the dual consequence of relieving the looming anxiety of needing to be finished with his work and increasing the anxiety of his date at Caleb’s apartment. He’s sitting at the table in the kitchen, spoon half way to his mouth, when he gets to doing that stupid thinking thing he does.

Is it too soon to be going to Caleb’s apartment? Is he going to want to have sex? He’d said he wouldn’t always be interested, but did that imply that when he was interested, then it was expected? He should have asked, he should have been more clear. This is... 

This is going to get him nowhere. 

Fjord takes a breath.

He’s driving his own car, his friends know he’s going. Worst comes to worst, he’s bigger than Caleb. 

And also darker, if cops got involved.

That’s not a helpful thought.

He takes another breath.

Its also a stupid thought. Nott is just as dark as he is, if not darker. Caleb’s been nothing but polite and kind, has shown real interest in making sure they’re all on the same page.

He’s breathing normally. 

“Are you alright, Fjord?”

He doesn’t jump, and Fjord considers it is probably terrible for his survival instincts that the sudden, shrill questions no longer trigger his fight or flight. “Fine.”

“Really? Because you look like you’re in the middle of a panic attack.”

“I’m fine, honest,” Fjord says, putting the spoon in his mouth.

“You spilled the contents of that spoon on the table three minutes ago.”

The spoon clicks against his teeth. He takes it out of his mouth. “Well y’see-“

“Are you nervous about going to Caleb’s?”

“Uh.”

“He tells me everything, Fjord.”

“Everything?”

“Mostly yes,” she says. “Anyway, what has you all hot and bothered about it?”

“It’s nothing,” Fjord says. “And please don’t use that phrase.”

Nott tuts, wagging a finger as she does it. “Talk to him.”

“I thought he was the older sibling,” Fjord says.

“Age is but a number,” she says. “I had to teach him how to talk to boys, you know. A right mess he was, I’ll tell you. He’s great at listening, though.”

“Yeah, I got that. It’s not a big deal though, really. I’m fine.”

Nott grumbles, but lets it go, padding off to her room.

She has a point though. He should talk to Caleb. He’s going to talk to Caleb. Just. Later. Before he goes to his house for dinner, that’s for sure.

—-

Six hours later, he’s pulling into the visitor’s spot outside Caleb’s apartment. He sits back and lays his head against the seat, phone in hand. It rings twice before Caleb picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Fjord? Are you here? I’ll be down in a moment to let you in.” Something clatters in the background, Caleb curses, muffled by—presumably—his hand. 

“Hey, uh, just a second.”

Caleb pauses on the other end, “Ja?”

“I just, uh, wanted to know what you wanted from tonight? You know, us-wise.” 

“Dinner,” Caleb says, faltering a bit at the end, but not quite making it a question. “Maybe, if you wanted, a nightcap and a movie? If- If you wanted more, that’s- that would be fine. I didn’t, um.”

“No, I just.” Fjord stumbles. “Maybe I’m just overthinking things. It’s been known to happen. I’ll just, head on over.”

Something rustles on the other end, which Fjord quickly realizes is the sound of Caleb’s beard against the phone. 

“I can’t see you through the phone.”

“Hah, ah, right. I’ll expect you in half an hour or so?”

“Uh, more like three.”

“What?”

“I’m in the parking lot.”

Caleb laughs on the other end, lilting and relieved. “I’ll be right down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, my roommate’s 19 year old cat has been declining in health and we had to put him down yesterday. It’s been a tumultuous few weeks, but I’m getting back on the horse. Sorry for the wait!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner date, dinner date, dinner date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to subject all of you to relatable Fjord anxiety until I can’t anymore.

Caleb’s apartment is on the third floor. When Fjord follows Caleb through the nondescript white door, he is met with a real sense of what it means that Caleb was a partner at a law firm as prestigious as Ikathon’s. The apartment opens into a carpeted entryway that leads into a full kitchen on the right with a table that could comfortably seat four. The table has a stiff, red tablecloth over it, the wood artfully visible at the corners is smooth and dark. Two plates are set opposite each other, an unlit white candle between them. The centerpiece is actual crystal, reflecting the last bit of sunlight pouring in from the glass doors that lead to a balcony across the living room. 

As Fjord looks through the space, he consciously keeps his mouth closed. The living room is separated from the kitchen by the thick white carpeting meeting the hardwood. There is a short, striped sofa and a single loveseat. A wardrobe-esque bookshelf with more books in one place that Fjord has ever seen in a private residence. And not in the ramshackle, scattered collections of those he’s seen come even close to this number. Each book looks simultaneously pristine and love-worn. 

“I see you’re well-read,” Fjord says once he regains his bearings. 

“Ja, you could say that,” Caleb says and shrugs, just a little stiff. “Should I give you the grand tour?”

“If I could just be pointed to the bathroom?” 

Caleb nods, “Sure. There’s one in the hall.” They pause for a moment, taking their shoes off at the door. He walks to the left, leading Fjord down a hallway with three doors on the right. “This was Nott’s room,” he says, gesturing to the first one. “She liked to be closest to the door. This middle one is the toilet and bath. My bedroom is the one on the end. The study and guest room are down the other hall.”

“Just a minute,” Fjord says, cocking his head at the bathroom door. “I’ll be right out.”

“Sure, take your time,” Caleb says. “I’ll just... get dinner plated?”

“Sounds great!” Fjord steps into the bathroom, closing the door as he flicks the light switch. Fully illuminated, the bathroom has not one, but three mats on the tile floor. The sink looks like real, actual marble. The mirror above it is trimmed with fanciful silver script, polished without a single streak. The tub is huge. Big enough to fit three people if they were feeling brave. 

That actually breaks his buzz of anxiety with a quiet thrum of horny intrigue, but it’s quickly subsumed and set aside. He braces his hands on either side of the scalloped sink and stares into his reflection. He knew Caleb, with his nice car and his nice suits and his nice job would have an equally nice apartment, but it’s real. This whole place, which probably costs as much as he made over the summer in rent alone, is real. He turns the brass handles on the sink to get a stream of clear water, wetting his hands and splashing his face. 

It’s fine. Caleb isn’t throwing this in his face, he’s not making a statement. He just lives like this. Palms over his eyes, Fjord drags his hands down his face. He shores his confidence, letting his anxieties flow off him like the water down his chin. There’s a dainty towel hanging on a brass hoop beside the sink, so Fjord pulls it free to dab his face. When he hangs it back up, he catches movement from the corner of his eye. 

Fjord spins, stumbling backward when he’s met with an orange, mackerel tabby giving him a judgmental look from atop the hamper. It tilts its head at him, then begins cleaning its right paw, dismissing him. He clicks his tongue at it, reaching out. It pauses in its cleaning to fix him with very green eyes and a paw still half-raised.

“Frumpkin?” Fjord asks, holding out his hand just shy of touching its ear. Frumpkin’s paw twitches, the claws flexing. Fjord pulls his hand back. “Shit, fine, nice to meet you, too.”

Fjord straightens the towel on the hoop, mindful of the eyes boring into the back of his neck as he leaves the bathroom. He’s deciding whether he should leave the door closed or open it a crack so the cat can leave if it wants to do so. “You can close it,” Caleb says from down the hall. “He is fine in there.”

Fjord pulls it shut. “Frumpkin seemed a little, uh, testy about being shut in there.”

“Oh he’s just like that. Did he swipe at you?”

“No, no, just gave me a bit of a warning when I tried to pet him.”

Caleb frowns, “I’ll have a word with him later.”

“A word... with your cat.” Fjord tries and fails to keep a straight face.

“Cats know more than they let on. He knows when he’s being a shit.”

Fjord lets that go if for no other reason than to forget the pissed off cat for the time being. “So what’s for dinner?”

“Salmon, rice, and cauliflower. I, ah, I use Blue Apron. I’m not a very good cook.”

Fjord sniffs the air, making a show of filling his chest, “Well it smells great. And this all looks beautiful, Caleb.” 

Caleb flushes when Fjord’s general sweep of the table includes Caleb himself. He clears his throat, “Yes, well, thank you. I made an attempt. Shall we?” 

Fjord dutifully takes a seat, allowing Caleb to serve the two plates, light the candle, and pour two glasses of wine. He waits for Caleb to take a seat before taking a tentative sip of his wine. It’s pink, and tastes like, well, like the other two times he’s had wine. Maybe a little... lighter? It’s still wine so it’s bitter as shit, but sweeter than the fancy stuff he had at his twenty-first. Not as sweet as the never-again boxed-wine Molly brought to one of their parties last year that gave them all a massive hangover. 

Caleb looks at him over the crystal centerpiece, “I should have asked if you wanted wine. Would you like a glass of water, or, ah-“

“No, it’s fine,” Fjord says, taking another sip. “Sorry, I’m just not used to it.”

“No sense in apologizing, I just. Well to be honest I googled what you are supposed to drink with salmon and most of them said rosé, so here we are.”

“It’s, uh, sweeter than the red—Pinot Noir? —I had for my birthday last year, so that’s a plus.”

“God is red wine the _worst_ ,” Caleb grouses. “It is all anyone wants to drink at dinner parties and open houses. I prefer white, much less dry.”

Fjord smiles, "You know, I would've been fine with mac and cheese with hotdogs 'long as you were the one eating with me."

Caleb shivers, even as he blushes, pulling an exaggerated look of disgust. Fjord tamps down a kneejerk retort to the expression as Caleb explains, "That was dinner three nights a week at home when I was very young. I thought I was done with it when my parents got to a better place when I was older, but then I was accepted into law school..."

"Just couldn't get away from it, huh?" Fjord jokes, mostly to cover for the fact that he's eating crow more than salmon internally.

"That and jello. It was a quarter a box and all it took was water and patience for a sweet treat you could serve to the whole neighborhood if you wanted. I ate it until I was sick once. Never again."

Fjord nods, trying to think of something to say that won't have him stumbling over an internal apology. "There a lot of kids in your neighborhood, then?"

"A few, most were younger, when things were better. I had friends, though, my age." Caleb looks a little distant at that, but he snaps back to the present. "Here I am navel gazing, not thinking to ask after you. What was it like growing up in Texas?"

"Oh, it was..." Shitty. "Complicated."

"That's a lawyer's answer," Caleb observes.

Fjord takes a mouthful of wine to buy himself time. This sip is actually better than the last one. Softening with the oil from the fish, not as dry. He swallows. "I didn't actually know my parents growing up," he admits, rubbing the shorn back of his head. "I kinda floated between homes for a while until my uncle picked me up years back, when I was already a teenager. He gave me a home, at least, a real one. Started working on his boats when I was older. Really I barely lived in Texas at that point, I lived on the ocean.”

“Would you believe I have never been to the ocean?”

Fjord almost blows wine out his nose. “You live a hundred fifty miles from Coney Island and you’ve never been to the beach?”

“That’s quite a ways to go, you know,” Caleb says defensively.

Fjord snorts, “It’s two hundred from Austin to Dallas, you yanks have no sense of scale.”

"I don't find it to be a- a moral failing," Caleb says, still flushed. "You'll have to take me there some time."

"I suppose I will," he says, and it's something of a relief to have moved on from talking about his uncle.

They eat and drink and enjoy each other's company for several long minutes before Caleb sets his fork down. "Not to blow my own horn, but I think that was pretty good. Would you like some more wine?"

"No, thank you," Fjord says. He scoops the last forkful of rice into his mouth. "Can I help you clean this up?"

"We can just put these in the sink,  I'll wash them later."

"No, I insist," Fjord says, standing. "Here, where's the garbage? You scrape, I'll wash and dry."

Caleb puts up a token protest, but falls into it. He pushes the scant remains of the meal into the trash, passing the plates to Fjord. With his sleeves rolled to his elbow, he takes a soapy sponge to the plates and pans, rinsing them off and setting them on the metal rack by the sink. Caleb steps over to it once the last pan has been scraped off, perhaps brushing closer to Fjord than he strictly needs, a hand lingering on Fjord's hip.

When all the dishes and pans have been properly dried and stowed, Caleb steps over to the candle and pinches it out between his thumb and forefinger--to Fjord's alarm. "Hey, don't you have a fancy snuffer or something for that?"

"It's alright," Caleb says, holding up his hand. "Really, no harm done. It's all callus."

"I didn't realize years of papercuts racked up like that."

Caleb purses his lips, looking away. "I used to, when I was- well, there was a fair bit of stress involved. I used to smoke," he spits out. "Rather a lot. It has been several years."

"I hadn't noticed," Fjord says. "It uh, it wouldn't be a dealbreaker if you did."

"I don't," Caleb says. "That is firmly behind me."

"Good," Fjord says, and steps into Caleb's space. Not trapping him, but certainly crowding him. When Caleb leans in, just a fraction, Fjord smiles and puts his face more level with Caleb's to whisper, "I can't say cigarettes make you taste too good."

"Oh?" Caleb asks, and his pupils are blown. The blue that's still visible is dark and vibrant. "Is that a particular concern of yours? How I taste?"

Fjord lets Caleb come to him, chase after his lips as Caleb surges forward. It's not as desperately sudden as their first kiss, but neither is it slow. Caleb scratches blunt nails across the back of Fjord's neck, pushes him back with a firm urging. This time it's Fjord with his ass against the counter, craning his neck down to accomodate their height difference. Caleb exudes heat like a furnace, rolling off him and crashing into Fjord. It suffuses into him, like a whole-body flush.

They break apart long enough for Fjord to ask, "Is this where the evening's going?" He’s trying for cool and confident, but he can hear the waver even as it leaves his mouth.

"It doesn't have to go any further than here," Caleb says, breathless. His eyes are still dark, but they haven't gone glassy or unfocused. They're still painfully sharp as they peer up at him, acknowledging Fjord’s hesitance. "There is still a movie, if you'd like. Or, ah, Netflix? That's a bit of a cliché, but things are cliché because they work."

“And what were you hoping would work out?” Fjord doubles down on the husky-sexy voice he’s practiced despite the sincere question.

Caleb’s voice, in contrast, rises in pitch. “I suppose the general things one expects from watching Netflix as a couple. A half-way decent show we’ve both probably seen interspersed with touching and kissing. If that’s amenable to your evening plans.”

“I think that’d be plenty amenable,” Fjord says. “Anything in mind?”

That’s how they end up, forty minutes later, on opposite sides of the couch watching The Great British Bake-Off. Fjord’s favored contestant was eliminated due to an amateur mistake while Caleb’s got star baker. Caleb smiles at him from his side, despite Fjord’s exaggerated pout. “Maybe your runner-up favorite will win the next round,” he says.

“Your baker only won because Paul thinks she’s hot,” Fjord says.

Caleb shrugs, “Mary certainly didn’t and it takes both of them coming to an agreement.”

Fjord grumbles, folding his arms. Caleb laughs, opens his posture, and cants his head toward his side of the couch. After a moment of mock-reluctance, Fjord sidles across the cushions and lays across Caleb’s lap, his head resting against the throw pillow. He hums appreciatively when Caleb threads his fingers through Fjord’s hair.

“So is this the stress or a family trait?” Caleb asks, thumbing the skunk stripe at his forehead.

“My uncle doesn’t have it, so I can only assume it’s the stress,” Fjord says, facing the screen, but letting his eyes close. 

The fingers in his hair scratch at his scalp, rubbing with the tips rather than the nails. It’s mostly random, circular patterns, alternating pressure and direction, slowly encompassing his head. Caleb rests his other hand on Fjord’s stomach, forearm limp on Fjord’s waist. Shifting enough to get his right arm free from beneath himself, he takes Caleb’s hand in his own and lets himself relax, the noise from the television already quite low. Caleb’s ministrations against his head eventually still, his breathing so even that Fjord wonders if he’s fallen asleep. 

“Caleb?” Fjord whispers.

After a moment, Caleb answers. “Mm, ja?”

“Just making sure you hadn’t dozed off on me.”

“No, you are just warm and comfortable.” The scratching at Fjord’s scalp resumes, this time with the light grazing of dull nails. 

Fjord shivers at the sensation, “You’re one to talk about warm. You’re like a damn furnace.” Fjord is, then, acutely aware of the fact that Caleb is, in fact, extremely hot against his back and side. So much so he’s a little afraid he’s left a massive sweat stain or something.

“Widogasts are notoriously hot-blooded,” Caleb says. “Very useful here in the godless, Yankee north.”

“I remember my first winter up here,” Fjord mutters. “I thought my toes were gonna fall off in my boots and some of you heathens were still walking around in shorts.”

“I didn’t move to America until I was twelve,” Caleb says. “In Germany, where I lived, the winter nights could get so cold we would have to share a bed with the animals. The three of us, my cat, and the dog—all piled under the comforters.”

“Molly’d suggest huddling for warmth my entire Freshman year,” Fjord murmurs. “That man can’t do subtle to save his life.”

They both doze on and off, paying less than half-attention to the show. Caleb’s hands both go limp, his breathing soft and even. Each one fills his lungs then comes easing out between his lips with a hint of a snore. Fjord repositions himself, partly to keep his leg from falling asleep, but also so he can see Caleb’s face now slack with sleep. His bearded chin rests against his chest and his shoulders are completely unbowed. Caleb has never looked _old_ , not really, but his demeanor leant itself a certain... ageless maturity. Seeing him with an unknit brow and an unguarded expression, Fjord feels a pang of guilt at having dwelled so long on their age difference. He’s thirty-five, not fifty. 

Fjord lets himself slip into a nap, subconsciously matching Caleb’s breathing. He feels warm and comfortably full. There’s no danger here, no pressing concerns or immediate responsibilities. He’s free to drift, unmoored from everything else beyond Caleb and the couch. It’s not dreaming, not how Fjord usually dreams. Instead, he’s floating in the void behind his eyelids, aware of the limbo he’s in without needing to care that he’s in it. Were he to want to define the space, it’s akin to deep meditation. He tried that with Molly and Jester last year. He’d gotten close to this state for a precious few seconds before Jester pondered out loud how embarrassing it would be for someone to fart at that moment.

Fjord comes back to reality with a start when Caleb gives him a light shake. “Sorry,” Caleb whispers. “My, ah, my legs have fallen asleep.”

“Shit, sorry,” Fjord mutters, pulling himself across Caleb’s lap and back into a sitting position. “You want me to give em a rub or something?”

“It’s all right,” Caleb says, stretching his legs straight and massaging his thighs. He smirks, “You are cute when you’re sleeping.”

“I could say the same,” Fjord counters. “Did you know your mustache flutters a bit when you snore?”

“I don’t snore,” Caleb says indignantly. “My nasal passages are clean as a whistle.”

“Then I’m sorry to say your nose is haunted by the wheezing spirits of the dead.”

“I’ll have them exorcised post-haste.”

Fjord cracks his neck as he looks around, the television screen asking if they’re still watching. He yawns, “What time is it?”

“Quarter after nine,” Caleb says without hesitation. Fjord looks at him. He’s not wearing a watch, the television doesn’t have a clock. Caleb notices his searching. “I’m very good at guessing.”

Fjord fumbles his phone from his pocket and, lo and behold, it’s 9:17pm. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“Do you need to drive home?” Caleb asks, bending his legs at the knees a few times, wincing at the pop. “It is getting late, I know.”

Fjord weighs his options here. This is technically the third date. Plus they’re fucking adults. It wouldn’t be untoward to stay well into the night. Or spend the night. Except he hasn’t brought any other clothes, nor did he pack a toothbrush. The last one cinches the decision for him. “I should.”

“Do you want to?” Caleb doesn’t look like he’s asking anything other than an honest question, but it still sets Fjord a little on edge. “What I mean to ask,” he says, and Fjord realizes he’s clenched his jaw, “is whether you feel like you should or whether you want to go. You are welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

Fjord rolls his jaw. “It’s been real nice,” he says, “and I’d like to stay. But I should head home. I’ve got some writing to do tomorrow and I should get to the library bright and early.”

“I need to be up early as well for work. If you don’t mind being up at 5:30am, we could leave together. Or you can go home now, since I really should get to sleep in the next hour or so and you don’t need to be brought down by my geriatric circadian rhythm.”

“It’s not that...” Fjord starts.

“I have spare toothbrushes.”

_Dammit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, out of excuses, Fjordy.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sleep together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caleb has a seeeeecret.

Fjord weighs his options. On the one hand, he's ten kinds of nervous about spending the night. On the other, it has been five years since he's had another person lying in bed next to him--barring the two or three times Molly accidentally slipped into his bed in the early hours of the morning after a bender--and he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it. Caleb's sitting still, trying to look impassive, but is rubbing his thumb against the second knuckle of his index finger as he awaits a response.

"I, uh," he starts. _Spit it out._ “I'd be happy to. Just point me to the toothbrush."

Caleb nods, rolling up and off the couch. He reaches a hand out to Fjord to help him up, which Fjord accepts while still doing most of the work. When Caleb continues to hold his hand as he navigates them through the hallway toward his bedroom, Fjord blushes. Seemingly unaware, Caleb prattles, "I keep the spares in the master bathroom. I used to keep them in the hall, but Nott... She has a tendency to, ah, move things."

"I... see," Fjord says, still following behind Caleb's lead. His room is--compared to Fjord's dorm, his lodgings back home, and the various spaces he grew up in--massive. The carpet is white and spotless, stretching from the door to the far wall where it meets the thick, dark curtains covering the single, wide (south-facing, If Fjord’s not mistaken) window. Caleb flicks a switch, illuminating the room in softer yellows compared to the sterile white of the hall. 

The effect is charming, Fjord can admit. It brings out the warmth in the wooden nightstands, reflecting the light from the paired lamps on either side of the bed. The bed, Fjord notes, that is king sized with posts sturdy enough that Fjord’s brain is taking him places he really shouldn’t be going given his hesitation in the to begin with. First the bath, now the bed. His libido is outpacing his anxiety in the worst ways. Caleb clears his throat, looking up at Fjord in a way that suggests he saw something in his expression. “The bathroom,” he prompts, pointing Fjord to the attached room on the western side. 

“Thanks,” he says, bustling over while Caleb walks to the standing dresser. “Where-?”

“In the medicine cabinet, behind the mirror,” Caleb says.

The bathroom is clean and organized as Fjord expected. A little too organized, down to the artfully stacked little pile of Reader’s Digest on top of the hamper near the toilet, the unburnt candle beside the sink, and the shortest-to-tallest line of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. This is a show bathroom rather than a room a human being actually uses and it’s got Fjord a little freaked. Still, he opens the medicine cabinet above the sink and fishes around for a fresh toothbrush. He finds it almost immediately, it and two others is various colors, selecting a green one. He also casually lets his eyes skim through the contents of the cabinet because he’s nosy. A few brands of painkiller, bandaids, shaving cream. Nothing that jumps out at him as weird. They even look used, breaking some of the freakish sterility of the room. 

Fjord brushes his teeth for the full two minutes that everyone should, getting the front and back of his teeth, behind the molars, across the tongue. He uses circular motions, scrubs his gums gently, and spits the excess paste into the sink before rinsing properly. He washes out the saliva-and-paste residue, taps out the brush, and sets it back in the cabinet bristles-up for the morning. His reflection smiles back at him when he closes the mirror. He checks his face for any dinner residue, rolls his jaw, and turns away satisfied.

When Fjord steps out of the bathroom, Caleb is gone. He’s about to call out for him when he hears something from the hall. He pokes his head out to find Caleb squatting at the hall bathroom door. The mackerel tabby, Frumpkin, is sitting in the doorway looking up at Caleb. They seem to be having a staring contest of sorts. “Everything all right?” Fjord asks. 

Caleb and Frumpkin both jolt at his question, but recover almost in unison. Caleb stands, “My apologies, I went to feed Frumpkin and explain to him he would have to stay the night in the bathroom.”

“Forgive me for my ignorance, but I didn’t think cats cared much for explanations,” Fjord says, a laugh creeping into his voice.

Caleb frowns, looking at the cat as it swishes its tail and retreats back into the bathroom. “They don’t, but it helps me sleep a little better knowing I made the attempt. Let me wash up before bed as well. I believe I have some pyjamas you can wear.”

Fjord follows Caleb back to the bedroom. “Uh, no offense, but I’m pretty sure anything I borrow won’t fit _you_ afterward.”

Caleb slides the second drawer from the top open from the dresser. He pulls out a crisply folded pair of blue and white striped pants. “Try them. And this shirt,” he says, taking out a plain white t-shirt. 

Fjord quirks a brow at Caleb, who doesn’t make eye contact as he steps away and into the master bathroom. “Did you buy a pair of pajamas for me.”

“Perhaps I anticipated I would gain a few pounds in my approaching middle age,” Caleb says through the door. 

Fjord unfurls the pants and holds them to his waist. The hem reaches the floor. “Were you expecting a growth spurt, too?”

“The water is running, I am having difficulty hearing you,” Caleb says, the sound of the sink coming on halfway through. 

Fjord rolls his eyes and slips out of his clothes and into the pajama bottoms. They’re soft and smoother than anything he’s worn before. He rubs his palms against the fabric, running his hands down his thighs to feel the glide of it on his skin. Before he forgets, Fjord folds up his pants and shirt, putting them on top of the dresser where he won’t forget them. He’s deciding on whether or not he should take his socks off when Caleb emerges, still fully dressed, but with his hair down and beard a bit damp. 

“Good, they fit,” Caleb says, raking his eyes down Fjord’s front. 

“Quite well,” Fjord says, smirking at Caleb as he puts his arms through the sleeves of the shirt and stretches just a little more than he needs to as he pulls it over his head. His smile slips a fraction when the shirt pulls a little around the chest and stomach. “Maybe not this one, though.”

Caleb’s face is demure, “Oh, how embarrassing. I chose a shirt that is too small. Dumm gelaufen, c’est la vie, etcetera.” He puts a hand on Fjord’s chest. “I’ll know better for next time.”

“You know, there are easier ways to get me to show off my curves for you,” Fjord says, putting his own hand over Caleb’s. 

“Well, easy isn’t always fun, as they say.”

Fjord bends into a quick kiss. Caleb steps back after a moment, pushing Fjord gently backward toward the bed. The back of his knees hit the mattress, so he sits at the foot of the bed while Caleb grabs his own clothes. Caleb hesitates with his matching pajamas in hand, turning to face Fjord. “I can look the other way,” Fjord jokes.

“No, it’s just that, ah. Hm. I realize you haven’t seen me shirtless before.”

“Not for lack of imagining,” Fjord says, mostly on purpose. 

Caleb laughs, but sobers. “This may come as something of a surprise to you, but I ask that you remain calm.”

Fjord forces down any humor to smooth his expression. “Uh, if you’re not comfortable...”

Caleb waves him off and begins unbuttoning his dress shirt. He unclasps the cuffs and slides out of it, revealing his undershirt. It takes Fjord a moment when he sees Caleb’s arms to realize what’s off before Caleb starts to shed that shirt as well. His hands and wrists down to about a quarter of the way up his forearms are smooth. His arms are almost immediately covered in thick, reddish-brown hair from that point upward. Caleb’s undershirt goes up and over, but for all the good it does considering the fuzzy sweater he’s got underneath. 

Fjord laughs uproariously, “Here I was thinking you were a twink and all along you were just a little pocket bear.”

“I think the word is ‘otter,’ Caleb says, looking strangely relieved. 

Fjord stands when Caleb reaches for the pajama top, putting his hands on Caleb’s shoulders to halt the movement and get a better look at him. “Caleb. Do you... do you shave only the parts of you that you can see in a button-down?”

“It’s efficient,” Caleb protests.

“But you don’t shave your face.”

“And have it back by mid-morning?”

Fjord laughs, softer, and kisses Caleb first on the lips, then the neck, then the base of his throat into the v of shaved hair that goes down his chest and makes it look like he’s wearing a shirt made of curly hair. 

Caleb pushes him away long enough to get his shirt on. “Pick a side,” he says, swatting Fjord’s behind as the latter turns to the bed. 

Fjord is still shaking his head in disbelief when he reaches the left side of the bed, rolling the covers down and sliding between the sheets. Caleb joins him on the other side after a moment. They lie there for a moment, just the odd shuffle every so often into a more comfortable position, then settle. “Should I get the light?”

“Sure,” Caleb says, leaning out to turn off his own. “I will warn you now, I have an alarm for 5am and it is... percussive.”

“I’ve slept through thunderstorms on a boat out at sea. I’ll wake up when it goes off, but it ain’t going to give me a heart attack.”

“That’s good,” Caleb says. “I think.”

A pull of the lamp’s chain later, they’re both lying in Caleb’s huge bed in the dark. Fjord tries to keep his breathing even as he settles against the pillow. To his surprise, Caleb rolls over first to put his arm across Fjord’s stomach beneath the blanket, nose against Fjord’s shoulder. Caleb inhales long and sharp, relaxing against him as he exhales slowly. Fjord relaxes as well when Caleb seems entirely content to just... sleep like that. At least until Caleb softly clears his throat, “You can put your arm around me, if you’d like.”

“Right, of course,” Fjord says in a hoarse whisper. He lifts his arm for Caleb to rest his head on his chest and lowers it over Caleb’s shoulders, hand resting on his ribs. If he’d thought Caleb was warm before, it’s nothing compared to the feel of him fully against him under the comforter. Fjord tries to relax again, Caleb’s space-heater properties speeding the process. 

It’s still pretty early for his usual schedule, but sleep is much more attractive when it comes with an affectionate body clinging to him. So he’s adrift again, on warm seas with calm waves. He doesn’t remember the dream, but he remembers the shift in emotions. 

He is safe, then he’s not. Breathing fine, then drowning, drowning drowning. He’s still warm, hot even, burning against his thigh and up his side. 

“Fjord? Fjord.”

His eyes snap open, meeting of Caleb’s, who is mostly on top of him. “Hm? Everything all right?” His heart is thudding heavily in his chest, but he keeps his voice even and carefully sleep-slow. The lamp on his side of the bed gives off enough light to fill the room.

“You were grinding your teeth,” Caleb says, tapping Fjord’s cheek. “It wasn’t a bother,” he rushes to say when Fjord begins an apology, “I just worried for your molars.”

“It happens sometimes,” Fjord says, still embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

Caleb doesn’t look convinced, but hopefully he’s questioning the frequency rather than the severity or the cause. “Alright. You should get some more sleep,” he says.

Fjord starts to hum in agreement and pull Caleb back against his side, but Caleb withdraws. Fjord makes embarrassing grabby-hands toward Caleb as he chuckles and pulls himself out of bed. “Hey...”

“It’s five of,” Caleb explains, moving to the bathroom. “You can sleep while I shower.”

Fjord grumbles, but closes his eyes despite the knowledge he’s not going to be able to sleep when he has to be up in half an hour. Caleb chuckles as he steps into the bathroom. After a minute, the shower comes on without the tell-tale screech of the faucet that Fjord’s used to hearing. The pounding of water against tile is briefly interrupted, stuttering as it hits, presumably, Caleb’s body. Fjord debates the merits of letting his imagination fill in the blanks of what Caleb looks like right now, but ultimately decides that masturbating in someone else’s bed is probably bad manners even when you’re dating said person. So he clambers out of the bed, already missing the warmth, and pulls off the clothes Caleb got him. He folds them up, sets them atop the dresser, and puts his clothes from the previous night back on. The fact that he only had them on for about six hours yesterday makes it a little more tolerable. 

Freshly dressed in less than fresh clothes, he sets about pulling the sheets on the bed tight, fluffing the pillows back up, and tucking in the comforter. He’s itching to brush his teeth again, but he distracts himself with picking through Caleb’s room. If he’s only looking at the stuff on open surfaces, it doesn’t count as snooping. It’s gotta be somewhere in The Constitution, he’s sure. It’s mostly just books—which have actual, tasseled fabric bookmarks in them—and photographs of Nott, or himself and Nott, or Frumpkin. No pictures of his parents, though. Sometimes families are complicated, though. No diploma or certification is a little more unexpected. What’s got him really surprised is the complete lack of knickknacks or jewelry. Fjord was under the impression that every rich person just had a box with a Rolex or some shit on their dresser, or cuff links, or a tie pin. Maybe Caleb has a jewelry box somewhere. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed when Caleb finally exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam. His skin is almost as red as his hair. Fjord stands. “Jesus, you look like you about boiled your skin off!”

Caleb frowns, holding his towel around his waist firmly with one hand while checking his free arm. “I don’t feel it much, and I get red at the slightest irritation, it’s nothing to be worried about.”

Fjord steps up to him, putting a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. It’s still quite warm, but then so is Caleb in general. He looks down to find Caleb looking back expectantly. “Just checking,” he says lightly.

“Well I hope it’s to your liking.”

“It’s as I expected,” Fjord says, leaning down a fraction. “You’re hot.”

Caleb huffs a laugh, closing the distance to plant a kiss on his lips. Fjord aborts an attempt at a deeper kiss, pulling away. Caleb’s sigh isn’t quite frustrated, but it’s close.

“Morning breath,” Fjord says, defensively.

“I don’t mind,” Caleb says, and steps as close as he can without pushing their bodies completely together. 

Fjord chews his cheek a moment before leaning back down into the kiss, made a bit awkward by their proximity and height difference, but Caleb going up on his toes helps a bit. He puts his arm around Caleb’s waist as Caleb puts his free hand at the base of Fjord’s neck, opening his mouth just a little. They kiss for a moment, taking shallow breaths as Fjord does his best to give Caleb what he wants while hyper conscious of the fact that he hasn’t brushed his teeth in seven and a half hours. Caleb licks Fjord’s bottom lip and Fjord pulls back. 

“Are you alright?” Caleb asks, eyes focusing.

“Yeah, I just, I, uh. How’s about you get dressed while I brush my teeth?”

“Sure, sure,” Caleb says, stepping back. He looks down Fjord’s front. “I seem to have gotten you damp.”

“I don’t mind that you went and got me wet,” Fjord says, winking.

“Filthy,” Caleb admonishes playfully, walking to his dresser.

Fjord watches a moment longer than he should as Caleb digs through the second to top drawer, towel slipping just an inch as he uses both hands. Fjord bites his lip, pausing in the bathroom doorframe.

Without turning, Caleb says, “Strange, I don’t hear the sink running.”

Fjord snorts a laugh and retreats into the bathroom to brush his teeth. And if he sneaks a peak in the mirror as he does, well, who’s to say.

When Fjord finishes to his satisfaction, Caleb has his suit on and his hair toweled dry and pulled back. He had disappeared into the walk-in closet for a minute, apparently getting all three pieces on at lightning speed. Fjord feels, once again, rather under dressed. The feeling passes when Caleb spares another few minutes of his morning to kiss him breathless now that Fjord can concentrate on that rather than the state of his breath. It’s a little exhilarating to keep his hands at his sides while Caleb takes his face in his hands to direct the kiss, for fear of wrinkling the suit. Yet another line of thinking that will have to be explored later.

It’s half past five by the time they are both at the door, Fjord pulling his shoes on as Caleb grabs a bottle of name-brand water, an apple, and his laptop to shove into his messenger bag. “You going to grab breakfast on the drive to your office?” Fjord asks.

“I’ll probably stop for coffee,” Caleb says, answering the question he wants to answer.

“Okay,” Fjord says. He double checks he has everything he needs and puts his handle on the doorknob. “I’ll just head down now. Text me when you get to work?”

“Sure,” Caleb says, and he pauses for a moment, then walks to Fjord to give him a quick embrace. “Thank you for coming to dinner.”

“Thanks for having me,” Fjord says, a little confused. “You did all the work.”

“Still, you gave me your time. I was a college student once, it is a precious commodity. Good luck at the library.”

“Appreciate it,” Fjord says, and plants a kiss on the crown of Caleb’s head before ducking out the door. The drive back to his apartment is quiet, though there are quite a few cars on the road for an early Sunday morning. When he turns the key and lets himself in, he nearly jumps out of his skin to find Nott seated at the counter. Or rather, on the counter. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what in the fuck are you doing sitting there in the dark!”

“Scaring you,” Nott says, sipping out of a mug. “How was Caleb?”

“Fine,” Fjord says, hand at his chest as he wills his heart back to a regular beat. “It was lovely. He made dinner.”

“He told me,” she says, hopping down. “Well, I’m going back to sleep for another hour. Goodnight.”

“Night,” he says after her, padding back to his room to get properly dressed. He makes a quick breakfast, but eats slowly, checking his phone every few minutes until he gets a text.

Widogast, Esq.: “I have arrived.”

Fjord smiles, texting back, “Same. Have a good day.” He pauses before hitting send, thumb hovering over it. He debates a minute before adding a kiss emoji and sending it before he can overthink it. He puts his phone back into his pocket, washes the dishes, and heads out toward the library. It opens early, thank god, and he finds himself a computer in the corner to start finding sources for his next paper. At nine o’clock he feels his phone buzz, then buzz again as he fishes it out of his pocket, and a third time before he has it fully out. Three texts light up his screen.

Jester: “Did you fuck??”  
Jester: “Also good morning”  
Jester: “But how good a morning ;))?

Fjord rolls his eyes, starts to answer, but gets another text.

Jester: “Also Molly is here and also wants to know if you fucked”

Fjord backspaces and starts typing something when-

Jester: “He says good morning also, but also how good a morning with a winky face, too”

Fjord puts his phone away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The secret is he’s an otter.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord has an exam and the boys finally confront the next step in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does have mentions of past self-harm and suicide ideation. Please mind the tags. Scroll all the way the end notes for details.

“So’s his dick broke or?” Molly asks tactfully, lying upside down on Jester’s bed with his legs up against the wall.

“None of your business if it is,” Fjord says, tapping into the well of patience he has been working to accrue his entire life. “Just like it’s none of your business whether we’ve had sex or not.”

“You haven’t,” Molly says. He just smiles with all his teeth when Fjord levels a stare at him.

“You know,” Jester says, trailing the last vowel sound, “if there was a problem with his dick, there are lots of ways to fix it. We could get you some viagra or a penis pump or-“

Beau clears her throat from her bed. “Yeah or you could leave it alone.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Jester pouts. “Jeez.”

“I... appreciate your enthusiasm,” Fjord says. “Look, I’m just not comfortable with you all being privy to every aspect of my relationship. He’s great, I’m feeling good about it, that’s all you need to know.”

“I don’t think it’s all we need to know,” Molly says. When Fjord glares, he holds his hand, well, down. “Is he treating you good?”

“Of course he is!”

“Woah, little defensive there.”

“I thought you were on my side, Beau!”

She rolls her eyes, “Just saying, it’s a good question, even from Molly.”

“Does he suck your dick at least?” Jester asks.

“I second that line of inquiry,” Molly says.

Fjord rolls to his feet, “Okay, well, I’m going. Great talk.”

“Ignore them for a sec, Fjord,” Beau says, tossing a sandal at Molly. He swears as it catches him square in the forehead. “Is Widogast actually treating you well?”

“He is. He’s... he’s great. I dunno if I deserve him, really,” Fjord says. 

Jester licks her thumb and wipes the gray scuff mark off Molly’s forehead while he flips off Beau. Fjord steps to the door and starts to let himself out of the crowded dorm before Beau has to start throwing more shit, but Jester hollers, “Goodbye! Good luck getting Caleb to put your dick in his mouth!”

“Thanks,” Fjord says, closing the door behind himself. They’re not bad friends, really. They’re his closest friends and they mean well, but hot damn does he feel the three year difference when he’s around them too long. Horndogs, the lot of them. He feels for his phone as he walks to his car in the east parking lot, pulling it from his right pocket. No new texts from Caleb yet, but he’s probably still working. It’s only just past two. He’d be in his office handling phone calls and client appointments and the odd letter. Fjord types out a quick: “Make sure you eat something today.”

He makes it home before a response arrives. "Don't you start, too."

Fjord smiles as he starts on unpacking his books, sparing a moment to shoot back: "Start with what? Caring about you?"

Fjord's text box shows the ellipsis of Caleb typing something, then it goes flat. Making the executive decision not to overthink it, Fjord goes about setting up his desk into his ideal studying composition. He's settled into his chair with a book propped open by his laptop, as though that would actually do anything useful, when the text finally comes through. "If you must."

Fjord: "You've neatly avoided the question."

Widogast, Esq.: "Oh? Which was that?"

Fjord: "Have you eaten yet today?"

Widogast, Esq.: "I have."

Fjord: "A meal?"

Widogast, Esq.: "In some countries."

Fjord rolls his eyes, but lets up on the inquisition. Caleb's a grown man who can drink coffee for breakfast and eat crackers for lunch if he wants to. 

Widogast, Esq.: "I am going to take Nott to a movie on Wednesday."

Fjord looks at the text for a minute, trying to puzzle it out. It's a statement. A fact. Fjord's not really getting anything else out of it. Unless Caleb's trying to open the invitation? Fjord doesn't want to intrude, especially since he knows he's already taking up some of Caleb's precious few free hours a week as it is. Well, unspoken invitation or not, he types back: "I'm sure you'll have fun. I'll be studying for Friday’s M. Bio exam."

Widogast, Esq.: “I could stop by your apartment afterward.”

Fjord smiles at his phone like an idiot for a second. “That sounds nice. See you then.”

—-

When Wednesday night rolls around, Fjord has completely lost track of the time. He vaguely remembers setting up in the kitchen after Nott left, but after that it’s a pelagic blur. He’s hip deep in phytoplankton and seabirds when the front door opens. Nott bounds into the room, followed by a moderately more reserved Caleb, though it’s clear even to Fjord’s dry and over-strained eyes that they’re both happy. “Good movie?” he asks.

“It was _awful_ ,” Nott proclaims, still grinning. 

“Probably the worst thing I’ve seen all year,” Caleb confirms. 

Fjord likes to think he’s at least a little emotionally intelligent, but none of what they’re saying matches their expressions. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no, we do this on purpose,” Caleb says. “We go to the two dollar theater and find the worst possible feature to watch.”

“It’s great, nobody’s ever there so we can yell at the screen!”

“I see...” Fjord says, feeling blind.

Caleb shrugs, “It is something I used to do when I was younger and still learning English. The theaters that played movies from America would have subtitles, and my parents would take me to them, but if I wanted to watch it many times it was cheaper to go to the ones that played the truly awful movies on a loop. Sometimes we would hide in the middle seats until the movie started playing again.”

“I just like bad movies,” Nott says, rooting through the fridge.

Caleb nods, then turns to Fjord, reading the covers of his books upside down before walking around the table to look at his laptop screen. “I wish I could help you here, but all I see are different colored fish.”

“I don’t need the help. I need to sleep.”

Nott emerges with her mouth full of something she’s pulled out of the fridge with a bare hand, and continues to pick out of a Tupperware and put directly in her mouth. “Try sleeping with the book under your pillow,” she says around what looks like maybe sausage and rice. Fjord has an uncomfortably clear view of it.

“I’m pretty sure that doesn’t do anything but give a man a sore neck,” Fjord says.

“Give it a shot, I’m sure Caleb would be willing to _rub out_ any kinks you get.”

“Nott!” Caleb scolds.

She doesn’t look remotely apologetic as she walks to her room, apparently finished for the evening. “Good night, Caleb.”

Caleb shakes his head as she vanishes down the hall. He returns his attention to the video on Fjord’s screen. “So what is the test on?”

“The pelagic zone, what inhabits it, and probably something about overfishing.”

“Probably?”

“Quite literally every test has had an essay question about overfishing.”

“Well, hopefully that’s left you well equipped to answer this one,” Caleb says, putting a hand on Fjord’s shoulder. Despite his general grumpiness and screen fatigue from having done nothing but study during his free time the past three days, Fjord’s mood lifts at the contact.

“I’m gonna be exhausted after the test, but I could be free Friday if you are,” Fjord mumbles, rolling his head back to look up at Caleb.

“You’ll do fine,” Caleb says, and rather than the kiss on the forehead Fjord was hoping for, Caleb rests his bearded chin against Fjord’s hairline. “I could make myself free, I think. There’s nothing pressing Friday that I cannot do Saturday. Everyone understands that “end of day Friday” really means “before Monday morning.””

“Does it now? Mind telling my professors?”

“Sure,” Caleb says, putting both arms over Fjord’s shoulders. “Would you like it to be notated with a works cited on the precedents set by professional work standards or will a, ah, in person discussion be required?”

“That I’d like to see. Pretty sure I could check their office hours, figure out a time for you to meet them. What are your rates?”

“Affordable,” Caleb says. “Or we can set up a payment plan. Would you like to view my fees and decide from there if you would prefer a flat rate or hourly? It’s been a few years since I was a practicing attorney, but I am sure I could ball-park something.”

“How about a ball-park up front,” Fjord asks, leaning into the warmth behind him. 

“Hmmm, taking into account the cost of travel to and from the campus, hours spent researching your professors to form a case... I would have to estimate, hm, a kiss goodnight so you can get some proper rest?”

Fjord whistles, “Mighty steep price you run there. I think I can manage. You’ll have to let me up, though.”

“There’s hug surcharge added to making me move from a comfortable position,” Caleb says in mock warning.

“I think I can still swing it,” Fjord says, standing when Caleb lifts his arms and straightens up. All things considered, it’s not a particularly erotic kiss, but it lingers on his lips well after Caleb has departed with a final farewell called to Nott.

—-

“So are you finally going to fuck?”

Fjord sighs, looking up from his textbook as he desperately crams information into his skull between stuffing his face with a chef’s salad. “Jester, I swear you’re as bad as Molly.”

“I’m just asking! You’ve been dating for like weeks!” Jester has a thick shawl wrapped around her neck and shoulders, which is made completely pointless by the sheer sleeves of the dress she’s wearing. “He could at least give you a handjob or something.”

“Jester!” Fjord coughs, heat rising in his cheeks.

She just rolls her eyes, “You’re so _weird_ , Fjord. It’s not like a handjob is even sex.”

Fjord begs for patience silently. “I love you, Jess, but please, _please_ stop asking about my sex life.”

“What sex life?” Jester asks, but holds up her hands when Fjord glares, bracelets clinking together, “Okay, okay. I think you got dressing on your book, by the way.”

Fjord swears, dabbing at it with his napkin. 

“You’re going to do fine, Fjord,” Jester says. “On the test!” she clarifies when Fjord gives her another exhausted glare. “You’re smart and handsome, it’ll be easy.”

“How will handsome help me pass this thing?” Fjord asks.

“Well if you give the TA a little of this,” she says, casting a smoldering look across her shoulder, “she might bump your grade!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fjord says, closing his book and shoving it into his bag.

—-

The test is, unsurprisingly, a grind. It’s not that the questions are particularly difficult, it’s just that there are so many of them and so little time to answer them all. He doesn’t envy the TA that has to grade all this bullshit. Still, he thinks maybe, just maybe, Caleb and Jester’s faith in him wasn’t completely misplaced. He wracks his brain for six environmental threats specific to the Pelagic Zone.

An hour and a half later, he walks into the cold air of the late-afternoon. Freed from the confines of academia and utterly exhausted mentally. He pulls his phone from his hoodie’s pouch. Caleb has left him a single message: “You’ll do well.”

“I hope you were right,” Fjord both says out loud and texts back to Caleb. He’s in his car a few minutes later, letting it warm up and absolutely dreading the fact that it’s only October. 

His phone buzzes from the passenger seat. He glances at it, still parked. 

Widogast, Esq.: “If you are free, you could come to my apartment for dinner.”

Fjord takes his phone in his hands and looks down at it for several seconds considering his next move. He’s exhausted and his eyes hurt and he really, really, really wants to fuck Caleb. His heart is thudding in his chest when he types, “Could I stay for dessert?”

Widogast, Esq.: “That could be arranged.”

Fjord’s almost put off at the speed of the reply, concerned that Caleb’s taking him literally. He starts to ask for clarification, but that’s about the same time his nerve gives out and he instead types, “Be there in twenty.” 

It takes him fifteen, because while he might be from Texas, he’s no stranger to a California Stop and if those yellows were getting a little stale when he drove right through them, nobody pulled him over. He checks his phone as he puts the car in park outside Caleb’s apartment. 

Widogast, Esq.: “Let me know when you arrive.”

Fjord taps Caleb’s name from his favorites. It rings once before Caleb answers, “You’re here?”

“Hello to you, too,” Fjord teases.

“I apologize,” Caleb says, “Hello, Fjord. How was your exam? Would you like to continue this conversation while you are outside in the cold?”

“Nobody likes a smart-ass,” Fjord says, smiling into the phone. He undoes his seatbelt and opens the door. Fuck, it is cold.

“You do,” Caleb says. “I’ll buzz you in.”

Fjord smirks, but does hurry to the front door, his free hand wrapped across his middle like that will keep the heat in. “You’re not coming down to greet me?”

“I’m a bit indisposed,” Caleb says, as though doing his best to be as vague as humanly possible. “The door is open, you can let yourself in.”

Fjord looks at the phone when Caleb hangs up on him. Then he remembers that the door is going to lock again in a second and hurries inside. As he makes the trek up the stairs to Caleb’s apartment, his thoughts are racing. Is he cooking? Is he picking up some clothes he left on the floor?

Is he naked?

Fjord pauses in the hallway. 

He shakes his head and keeps walking. Caleb’s a little too classy to answer the door buck naked. He thinks. Fjord clicks his teeth nervously. Nothing to do but find out. Caleb’s door has a soft light coming from beneath it. When he tries the knob, it opens. “Caleb?” Fjord calls as he steps inside, locking the door behind him.

“In here,” Caleb says from the vague direction of the kitchen. Fjord kicks off his shoes and pads over to the entryway. 

Fjord’s not disappointed to find Caleb in a pair of sweatpants and a loose, long-sleeved t-shirt, but he’s also not quite relieved. Then Caleb turns to him, smiling wide, and Fjord is very much not disappointed. He sets whatever he’s playing with on the stove aside and sweeps over to Fjord, leaning up to kiss him. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t leave this for more than a moment or I would have met you downstairs,” Caleb says, stepping out of the loose embrace Fjord had pulled him into. “I forgot to start making dinner before you texted me that you were finished with your test.”

Fjord steps up behind Caleb, completely ignoring safe kitchen practices to peer into the pan he has simmering. “What’ve you got going there?”

“Farfalle and pomodoro,” Caleb says, and Fjord elects not to say anything about it being bow ties in tomato sauce. 

“Smells great,” Fjord says, stepping away. 

“Thank you.” Caleb lifts the spoon free of the pan and pulls a noodle free of the steaming sauce with his bare fingers before biting into it. “It’s done, if you want to take a seat.”

Caleb portions the food into a pair of bowls by the stove, delicately wiping the small splashes of sauce from the rims before bringing them to the place settings. It’s good, and Fjord says as much. Their conversation is light and Fjord dances carefully around the occasional question about how the test went. Caleb either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind. It’s nice, though Fjord can feel the slight tension in the air between them, neither of them seeming quite willing to break it. When they’re both scraping the bottoms of their bowls with their spoons, Fjord looks up, “So, uh-“

Caleb interrupts, “I hope you, ah, weren’t hoping for an actual dessert because the oven hasn’t worked in three days and I don’t know how to make anything on the stovetop that qualifies as such. Apart from Jello.”

Fjord wets his lips. “Uh, no, I was- I wasn’t looking for an actual dessert, but if you uh-“

“Fjord, would you like to have sex?”

“Yes.” Fjord bites down on the inside of his cheek. “Please.”

“Well, help me clean up then,” Caleb says, standing up from the table to collect their bowls. Fjord stands so quickly he almost flips the chair onto the ground, but catches it. Caleb snorts a laugh, but his expression is soft when Fjord looks at him sheepishly. “No need to rush, you know.”

Fjord rolls his eyes and pushes the chair in before walking to the sink to wash the bowls out. Caleb dries them and stacks them upside down on a dish towel, setting the clean spoons evenly beside them. “We don’t, you know, have to,” Fjord says, painfully aware of how quickly he’s talking.

“I’d like to,” Caleb says, slowly, so slowly it has to be intentional, putting away the sauce pan in the cabinet beside the oven. “If you’re _up_ to it.”

Fjord takes Caleb by the shoulders and spins him around so his back is to the counters. He bends down to whisper roughly in his ear, “Oh I’m up to it.”

Caleb puts a hand against Fjord’s chest. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well get to the bedroom, then. We’re not barbarians, people eat in here.”

—-

Fjord’s on the bed, stripped to his underwear and tanktop, watching Caleb take his shirt off with loosely restrained excitement thrumming just under his skin. Still in his sweatpants, Caleb joins him, kneeling on the mattress. Fjord shuffles over to grab the back of Caleb’s head, playing with his soft hair, scratching at his beard with his other hand. Caleb pushes their noses together for a moment before tilting his chin to catch Fjord’s lips.

Fjord smiles into the kiss, starting to lean in and encourage Caleb backward across Caleb’s oversized bed. He slides his hands down Caleb’s arms to the elbow and elbow down to wrist. Or, he intends to, but as he does he feels a rough notch against his thumb beneath the hair on Caleb’s arm. Then another, multiple on each arm. He pulls back, turning Caleb’s arms so they’re palm up. 

Caleb recoils at Fjord’s touch, shocking Fjord into looking away from his arms and up to his face. His expression is soured, and the moment Fjord releases his wrists, Caleb folds his arms against his chest. “I would rather you didn’t... prod at them.”

“I’m sorry?” Fjord tries, puzzled. They had looked kind of like pock-marks or... burns? But they’re faint-white, visible against Caleb’s pallor only because of the discoloration and texture, and evenly spaced up his arm.

Caleb’s expression softens a bit as he studies Fjord more intently. The shift from guarded to inquisitive is more than a little jarring and well past mood-breaking. “You really didn’t notice them before. Last week. I thought you had just- I thought you were being kind.”

“Caleb, what uh, what are they?” Fjord asks, and when he reaches for Caleb’s arms, Caleb relents and holds them out. There are six on each arm, going up from where the hair begins almost to the inner elbow. 

Caleb sighs, gritting his teeth. “They are burns.”

“Yeah I figured, but what did this?” He doesn’t touch them again, but he wants to do it. Just to get a better idea of what could have-

“I did this.”

Fjord’s neck twinges with how quickly he looks up. 

“Well, technically it was the end of several cigarettes over the course of four years that did this, but I was holding them.”

Fjord struggles to find a word, any word, but they all slip through half-formed and garbled. He wants to offer a word of comfort, or disbelief, or reassurance. Something.

“It was a long time ago,” Caleb says, putting his hands in Fjord’s, hiding the burns from his view. “It’s been five years since I last did something so stupid.”

Fjord finally gets his tongue to move with the stream of air he’s forcing from his lungs. “You’re not stupid.”

“Maybe so, but this was. It didn’t help anything, at the time. It was just... a reminder I was alive. So maybe it did help. I just. I. Fjord,” he finally settles on. It’s plaintive. It tugs at Fjord’s own fucked up self-image issues, and it’s just another person saying his name. Caleb gives a stuttered little yelp when Fjord pulls him half into his lap to hug him. There’s a moment of Caleb struggling to get into less of an awkward crumple before he settles his forehead against Fjord’s chest and rubs his hands down Fjord’s back.

They sit like that for as long as Caleb’s spine can handle the angle, Fjord’s left hand cupping the back of Caleb’s head while his right arm is still and secure across Caleb’s ribs. Eventually Caleb taps twice against his back, like a pinned wrestler. Fjord eases Caleb away from him, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Caleb says, rolling his shoulders and twisting in place. He doesn’t make eye contact with Fjord, fixed more around the cheeks, when he looks up at him. “I don’t, ah—that is I would prefer if we discuss some of my prior neurosis at another time. If you wanted to talk about them.”

“We should, maybe at some point, talk about it. But it don’t gotta be tonight,” Fjord says, and this time when he leans in, Caleb does fall all the way back against the mattress, unfolding his legs and pulling Fjord down with him. 

“I would greatly rather that we didn’t.”

They lie there for several minutes, the sound of their slow, even breathing the only sound in the room. Eventually Fjord rubs at Caleb’s shoulder. “So I really just murdered the mood, huh.”

Caleb shrugs, “I’m still up for sex if you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fjord discovers Caleb has years-old self-inflicted burns up and down his arms, the act itself not described with very much detail and the scars briefly descibed in color and texture.
> 
> —-
> 
> There’ll be an interim chapter for those of you allowed to read explicit works. It should be out tomorrow once I finish polishing it up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff because I need that in my life. I hope you like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows directly after the events alluded to in the previous chapter.

Sweat still cooling on his skin, Fjord's aware he needs to get up and shower. It's a distant awareness, but one that's becoming increasingly urgent as the minutes pass. Caleb, bless him, is a patient presence beneath him; cupping the back of Fjord's head and humming while he strokes up and down his back.

"Alright," Fjord says, still flopped across Caleb's body. "Alright, I'm getting up."

"Which of us are you trying to convince?" Caleb asks.

Fjord snorts, "Me, mostly."

"Here," Caleb says, "you shower first, I'll strip the bed and retrieve the linens."

"It's your bed," Fjord says, "and I, uh, made the mess. You can shower first."

"Really, Fjord, shower. It is nothing. Go," he says, slipping out from under Fjord.

Without the thermal blanket that is Caleb to stave off the chill of sweat, Fjord groans a final time before rolling off the side of the bed and onto his feet. Once in the bathroom, he grabs the lime green toothbrush from the sink and dabs some toothpaste on the bristles before looking at the shower. It's put together a bit differently from the one in the hall, namely that it's a stall rather than a combination shower/bath. Still large enough for two people to share comfortably; a fact that has Fjord cursing his refractory period.

The shower gets hot far quicker than his shower, and when he hops in, it maintains a consistent temperature. He brushes his teeth as he peruses the various bottles and soaps stacked along the shelves. The water drums against his back, throwing up a cloud of steam that fogs the glass and his vision, but Fjord's stricken by how new everything in the shower appears to be. Two of the three shampoos are full and the single open one is nearly so. The soap, namely the one bar that doesn't look completely decorative, still has the engraved brand mostly intact. Fjord shrugs entirely to himself and sets to scrubbing himself clean. It's just, well, odd. He hopes Caleb hadn't restocked everything in his bathroom just because he might be coming around.

Eventually, Fjord is confident he has gotten the stink of sex off his skin and has conditioned his hair twice just because he's trying to procrastinate leaving. It's probably rude to leave Caleb out in his apartment, sticky, while he uses up all his hot water, but god it's nice.

A sharp knock at the door pulls Fjord entirely from vague guilt to proper guilt. "Yeah, yep, I'm done! Out in a sec."

The door cracks open, Caleb's voice carrying over the rush of water, "No rush. I was a little worried you may have slipped."

"I've used up enough of your hot water, really, I'm good," Fjord says, stepping out of the shower, water still going. "And you can come on in, if you want. Nothing you haven't seen before."

Fjord regrets the invitation when the door opens, bringing with it the relative cold of the room. Caleb shuts it behind himself, though, and looks him up and down. "Ah, scheiße, I forgot to leave out towels. In the closet," he says, stepping over to the slatted door by the sink. He retrieves a pair of fluffy, white towels, holding them out to a grateful Fjord.

"Thanks," he says, tossing one over his shoulders and wrapping the other around his waist. "Uh, kept it hot for you."

"Thank you." Caleb wavers for a moment, buck naked on the bathroom tiles, then leans up for a quick kiss, which catches Fjord off guard. He manages to avoid cracking Caleb's nose with his chin and match their lips up, but barely.

"You alright?" Fjord asks.

"Yes, of course, I just... If you ah, I put your clothes in the wash with the bedsheets because I thought it would be efficient, but your pajamas are in the top drawer. If you- if you wanted to leave now, I could give your clothes to Nott tomorrow, or you could-"

"Caleb," Fjord interrupts, putting his hands on his shoulders. Said shoulders are trembling, which could be from standing barefoot on ceramic, but maybe not. "Did you want me to go?"

"No! No. I just wasn't thinking when I put your clothes into the wash. It was not my intent to- to trap you here if you wanted to go. That is what I meant."

"I don't feel trapped with you," Fjord says. "Really, thank you for cleaning my clothes. I can get a whole other day before I gotta do my laundry now.”

"You're welcome," Caleb says, not looking entirely convinced.

Fjord sighs, takes the towels off his waist and shoulders, and sets them on the sink. "Here, get in already, I'll wash your back."

"You just want more time in my shower," Caleb says, smirking, but he sidesteps the playful swat toward his bare ass and gets into the stall.

Fjord steps in after him, closing the glass door. "I want more time with _you_ ," he insists.

\---

The smell of new sheets is comforting, though not as comforting as a warm presence beside him would be. Alas, Caleb was insistent on drying his hair before bed.

“I, unlike you, need to worry about losing my hair,” Caleb had said, before shoving Fjord out of the bathroom.

The blow dryer makes a low roar through the door, Caleb’s humming just barely audible under it. Fjord crosses his arms over his stomach while he waits, dressed in the pajama pants Caleb kept in his top drawer. It’s nice, this domesticity. The thought of getting used to it, becoming accustomed to having someone nearby, scares the absolute shit out of him, though. It’s nice to have, but it would be devastating to lose if he starts taking this for granted. 

The dryer ceases its racket and Fjord lifts himself up on his elbows in anticipation. Caleb steps out, backlit by the bathroom lights, cutting a sharp figure with just a towel around his waist. Fjord whistles appreciatively, just to see him blush. “You are insatiable,” he says.

“Only for you,” Fjord says, giving him a wink. Caleb sighs and turns out the bathroom light, then makes for the dresser. Fjord watches the way his hair bounces, still damp at the tips, but made wavy by the heat. 

Caleb slips a shirt on first, the hem low enough to reach his thighs before he shucks the towel and roots around his drawers for pants. “He who loves to be flattered is worthy of the flatterer,” Caleb mutters, pulling a pair of sweats up his legs.

Fjord narrows his eyes, “I know iambic pentameter when I hear it, I swear I think in it at this point.”

“The Life of Timon of Athens,” Caleb says, flopping onto the mattress beside him. “A reminder not to think too highly of myself.”

“You’re calling me a liar?” Fjord asks, pulling Caleb to his chest. 

“Not as such,” Caleb says, resting his hands over Fjord’s. “I meant that... hm. I shouldn’t expect you to think so highly of me. I should work to be worthy of it.”

Fjord huffs a laugh into Caleb’s hair, nosing against the male of his neck. It’s still warm. “You’ve been nothing but good to me, Cay.”

“Oh well that’s just unfair,” Caleb says. “Your name is only one syllable, what kind of pet name can I use for you?”

Ignoring the change of subject, Fjord runs his hands up and down Caleb’s front while he pretends to think. “Hmm, you could always go with the classics. I’m partial to “honey.””

“Too saccharine,” Caleb says. “”Darling?””

“Too camp.”

“Oh, because you’re so very butch,” Caleb laughs. “Should I resort to German? How does Schatz sound?”

“What’s it mean?” Fjord asks, suspicious.

“Treasure,” Caleb says, “taken literally.”

“Hm, I dunno,” Fjord says. “What else have you got?”

“Well if you’re going to be so picky,” Caleb laughs. “Knuddelbärchen.”

“Noodle barking?”

“Knuddelbärchen,” Caleb says, slower. “Cuddle-bear,” he translates.

“I could live with that,” Fjord says. “You wouldn’t be calling me something silly to embarrass me, now, would you? I’ve got the internet to translate it.”

“If you could spell it right,” Caleb says, ”but no, it means what I said. You think you’re a bear, yes?”

“I know I’m a bear,” Fjord asserts. 

Caleb hums, then reaches out to turn out his light. “Earn the name, then, knuddelbärchen.”

“Grr,” Fjord growls, half-heartedly, but squeezes Caleb against him.

—-

Fjord wakes up some time later, realizing his error in choosing big spoon when he has to roll onto his back with one arm still trapped under Caleb. There’s a half-audible peel from how much he’s sweat down his front. With his free hand, he shakes out his shirt a bit to cool off. It’s still dark and there’s no light coming in beneath the curtain, so Fjord closes his eyes and tries to get back to sleep. He feels Caleb shift, the pressure on his arm relieved for a moment before Caleb rolls over with his head on Fjord’s shoulder. Fjord sighs, eyes still closed, and tugs Caleb flush against his side. 

—-

When Fjord wakes up a second time, Caleb is already awake and sitting up on his side of the bed, a pillow at the small of his back. Fjord says some approximation of Caleb’s name as he lifts his face out of the pillow and blinks the sleep out of his eyes.

Caleb glances at him and smile, then returns to his phone, “Just answering an email. It’s only six in the morning, you can go back to sleep.”

“What’re you doing up at six on a Saturday?”

“I’m always up early,” Caleb dismisses, typing in the last few words. He sets his phone back on the nightstand. “I can start breakfast if you’d like to stay.”

“Mm, sure, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course,” Caleb says, bending down to brush a kiss against his hair. “I, ah, I only really know how to make eggs and toast.”

“Sounds great,” Fjord yawns. “You sure you don’t want help?”

“I can handle breakfast,” Caleb says, slipping out from under the covers. He gives Fjord’s blanketed ass a pat as he steps around the bed and out the door.

Fjord lingers for a few minutes, stretching and yawning. When he does force himself to his feet, he pads into the kitchen to find Caleb already portioning breakfast onto two plates. “Can I get the butter out or something?”

Caleb looks up at him. “Already on the table, I’m afraid.”

“You’re too quick for me,” Fjord grouses, taking a seat. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Caleb says. He puts a loaded plate in front of Fjord, sets down the salt and pepper, then sits across from him. “Your clothes should be dry by now. I moved everything over earlier this morning.”

“I didn’t notice you were up,” Fjord says, surprised. 

“You slept like the dead,” Caleb says, scraping a dab of butter across his toast. 

Fjord hums in agreement. “You take a lot out of a man.”

Caleb blushes, but just shakes his head. He pours himself a glass of orange juice from the clear plastic jug, then offers it to Fjord. He takes it gladly. “I am going to be sending emails for most of the morning, but you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Uh, it’s fine. I should head home soon anyway. No sense in getting in your way all day.”

“You’re not a bother, Fjord. I enjoy having you here.”

It’s Fjord’s turn to blush. “Well, I like being here, but I’ll get out of your hair.”

They finish breakfast in relative quiet, then clear the table. It’s calming, the slow domesticity of cleaning. His uncle would probably have a word or two to say about Fjord _enjoying_ a chore, but Fjord’s not thinking about him right now, so it doesn’t matter what he would, hypothetically, have to say. True to Caleb’s word, Fjord’s clothes are warm and dry when he pulls them from the dryer. He brushes his teeth, gets his clothes on, and puts his pajamas in the little wicker basket beside the washing machine while Caleb makes the bed and gets dressed himself. 

“This was nice,” Fjord says at the door. 

Caleb steps into his space, “I’m glad. I, ah, I wish I could say we should do this next week, but next weekend is going to be- it’s going to be busy.”

“Well, absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Fjord falters, “That’s Shakespeare, right? That was one of his?”

Caleb laughs, “No, that one’s a bastard mutt of a phrase.”

“Well,” Fjord says, “I tried.”

Caleb shakes his head playfully, then tilts up into a kiss, open mouthed and passionate enough to make Fjord lean hard against the door. He digs his fingers into Caleb’s back, groaning into the kiss as he tries to return the fervor in kind. They break apart for a moment, Caleb holding Fjord’s head in his hands. “I hope this makes the absence more bearable.”

“Caleb, the only thing this is going to do if you keep it up is make me walk to my car with my shirt pulled over my crotch.”

“Well that would be terrible, wouldn’t it.” Caleb presses their mouths together.

—-

Fjord makes it to his car without flashing a boner at anyone, but it’s a near thing. When he’s safely in the driver’s seat, he leans his head against the rest for a moment, then starts the engine and let’s his car warm up. While the radio plays softly and the air goes from bitter cold to just a little nippy, he thinks. It’s only two weeks. He can text and call Caleb. Hell, Caleb will probably be over for a few minutes when he can manage it to see Nott. It’s stupid to be anxious about not having another sleep-over. It’ll be fine.

He’s so sure that it’ll be fine that he finds he hasn’t driven to his own apartment. Fjord looks up at Jester’s dorm from the parking lot. Rather than overthink it, he calls her. She picks up on the second ring, “Hellooo?”

“You have caller ID, Jester,” Fjord says. 

“Well the Fjord I know was at his sugar daddy’s house and they were going to be having sex all day, so I wasn’t sure if I was seeing the right Fjord on my phone.”

“I’m the only Fjord in your phone.”

“You don’t know that! It’s a very common... Norwegian? Name? Ya, I have tons of friends in Norwegia.”

“Norway.”

“Yes way!” Jester says, then falls into a fit of giggles. 

Fjord rubs the bridge of his nose. “Are you free?”

“Ya, you can come up if you want to. Molly’s here, though.”

“There something I should know?” Fjord asks, genuinely curious.

“Only that he was very drunk last night and had to sleep on the floor. Beau stepped on him.”

“Accidentally?”

“I mean...” Jester trails off. 

“I’ll be up in a few, Jes.”

Fjord shakes his head as he ends the call. Then he sighs as he needs to get out of his newly warm car and into the cold. He bites the bullet and makes a run for it. Luckily for him, a walk-of-shamer is on his way out when Fjord reaches the door, so he doesn’t need to bother Jester to come open the door for him. When he gets to her room, the door’s open a crack. Said door is absolutely covered in construction paper that has been entirely obscured by glitter-glue. He gingerly opens it enough to get inside without touching any of it.

“Hail and well met!” Molly is laying on the floor with a single pillow and a throw blanket. He looks almost put together. “How was your night?”

“Eventful,” Fjord says, closing the door. Jester crashes into him, slamming the door quite a bit louder than he meant to.

“Did you fuck?” Jester asks into his chest. One track mind, the lot of them.

“He did,” Molly says. He taps the side of his nose when Fjord levels a look at him, “It’s my super power. Fuck detection.”

Beau clears her throat from her bed. “So who topped?”

“Jesus, guys, I just got in the door-“

“Caleb,” Molly says. 

“And how do you figure that?” Fjord asks.

Molly guffaws, “Yeah, you’re topping with nails like that.”

Fjord reflexively checks his nails. They’re a _little_ long, but it’s not like they’re _talons_. “What about yours? I thought you were versatile.”

Molly smirks and holds up his right hand. His nails are a good inch long and bedazzled. “Bottom.” He holds up his left, showing only the thumb, ring, and pinky are similarly decorated. The other two are clean and neatly filed. “Top.”

“You are vile,” Fjord says without heat. 

“That’s not what Clay was saying.”

“You fucked a dude named Clay?” Beau asks. 

Jester, still holding onto Fjord, looks over her shoulder, “Who’s Clay?”

“A delightful barista down the way. He’s a little weird, but hey, freaks love freaks. But we’re not talking about my glorious and multitudinous sexcapades, we’re talking about Lord Fjord’s. So?”

“So, nothing. We had fun. That’s it.” Fjord disengages from Jester gently, taking a seat on the bed. “It’s just going to be a few weeks until I can see him again.”

“That bad, huh,” Molly teases. 

“Oh fuck you,” Fjord says. “It was great, one of the best lays I’ve ever had, okay? Mind blowing orgasm and everything. You happy? Now I’m just a little nervous about having to go so long without going to his place again.”

“Nervous,” Beau asks, “or horny?”

“It can be both,” Fjord and Jester say simultaneously. He looks at her, but she shrugs.

“Great minds,” she says.

“Alright, well, nothing you can really do about it,” Beau says, “So just? I dunno, jack off? Phone sex? You’re smart, you’ll figure something out.”

“Sexting!” Molly provides, ever helpful.

“It’s not just a horny thing, okay? Can we dial this thing like two notches toward an adult fuckin conversation for a minute?”

“Jeeze, Fjord,” Jester says. “I mean, if you’re so bothered by it, you should probably talk to him about it, probably.”

“Didn’t you get coffee on your first like, real date?” Beau asks, “Just tell him you want to meet up for it during the week if you don’t want to go that long without seeing him in person.”

“I can recommend a great place and an even better barista,” Molly offers.

“Thanks,” Fjord says, calming down. “I just don’t want to steal him from Nott. He doesn’t have much time as it is, and now he’s got to split it between me and her.”

Beau shrugs, “I mean, she’s had plenty of time with him, right? She can just, you know, deal with it.”

“Oh, I know,” Jester says, “ _we_ can hang out with Nott more! That way she won’t be lonely while you and Caleb are-“ she looks physically pained as she swallows the obvious and goes with, “-seeing each other.”

“I appreciate the restraint there, Jester,” Fjord says. “And... yeah that might actually be a good idea. I don’t ever see her talking to anyone. It wouldn’t hurt to see if I can’t help her broaden he social circle.”

Beau nods, “Yeah, I’m down for it. I heard she fucking hates Molly, so I like her already.”

Molly sticks his tongue at her from the floor. “Well, I’m okay with that anyway. I’m sure she’ll fall for my charm eventually.”

“Great,” Fjord says. “Thank you.”

They’re good friends. Childish and a little depraved, but good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re all a bunch of dumb college kids, but they mean well.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang tries to befriend Nott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been like two months(!!) since I last updated. A lot of story reveals in the show, plus life, plus other writing to work on—it was hard to pin this chapter down.

Nott’s watching him warily when Fjord approaches her the next morning. He’s not trying to corner her, but he did have to wait until he heard the light scamper of her walking barefoot across the tile before walking into the kitchen. “Hey, Nott. How’s the morning treating you?”

“You want something.” She stares up at him, hands on her hips.

Fjord frowns, “I mean, I want to see how my favorite roommate’s doing on this fine- yeah alright. What’re you doing after class today?”

“It’s Sunday, Fjord.”

“Uh, yeah. So, you’re free then,” Fjord says, recovering flawlessly.

Nott narrows her eyes. “Are you trying to get to know me now?”

“Hey, we know each other plenty! I know you’re studying criminal law, and you steal shit from waiters you don’t like.”

“I know you’re fucking my brother. What do you want?”

“Would you want to grab a coffee or something with me and my friends later? Jester, Beau, and, uh, Molly.” Fjord watches her expression at the last. She seems unfazed.

After a moment, she turns back to the counter to finish making a bowl of cereal. “I suppose I could.”

“Great!” Fjord says, surprised. “We figured around ten? How’s that work for you?”

“It’ll be fine.”

—-

It’s not as fine as Fjord had hoped or Nott had estimated. For starters, Beau’s not here. Molly is at the counter flirting with the man behind it incessantly. Jester seems either purposefully ignorant or is truly a marvel at misidentifying tension. The last time Fjord was here there had been significantly fewer people. Nott seems even more on edge than normal with this many people milling about. If Fjord didn’t know her better, he’d think Nott was about to cry. Instead, he knows she’s more likely to start cursing people out for getting in her space. 

“Uh, how about you and Nott go find us a booth in the back, Jester. What’re you getting, Nott?”

Nott focuses her darting eyes onto Fjord’s, losing a bit of the mania when he calls her attention away from the crowd. “Hm? Oh, uh, coffee, black, small.”

“Easy enough.”

“What about me, Fjord?”

Fjord rolls his eyes, “Coffee that’s more cream than anything else, extra extra sweet, whip, and sprinkles if they have them.”

Jester beams, “You’re so smart, Fjord. Here, Nott, let’s go over to the booths. Oh, wait.” She turns over her shoulder as she starts leading Nott toward the back, “Fjord, get two bear claws!”

Fjord nods in affirmation. When he turns back, Molly has stepped away from the counter with a mug of tea and a triumphant smile. The barista—Cay? Clay?—is looking at him placidly, waiting for Fjord to step up. “Uh, good afternoon.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He says, all gravel. “What can I get for you?”

“Could I get a small, black coffee; a large cup of cream with some coffee in it, as sweet as you can; two bearclaws; and... medium coffee with cream and a little sugar for me.”

“Can do,” Clay says, not writing it down. He leans in, almost conspiratorial. “You know, your friend there doesn’t have to try so hard.”

Fjord raises his eyebrows in surprise, following Clay’s gaze to Molly. “Uh, I was under the impression he was already, uh, that you two...”

“Oh, not for me,” Clay says, chuckling. “For you. He’ll get over you eventually, he doesn’t have to try so hard to put you behind him.”

Fjord clenches his teeth, “Yeah, uh, you’ve known Molly how long?”

“A few days, give or take.” 

Fjord just nods, purses his lips, and fishes out a ten and a five. “So what’s the total?”

“$11.85, thank you.” Clay counts the change slowly, double checking the register, and hands it over to Fjord.

Fjord gives Clay a half-smile, drops a dollar and the change into the cup by the register, and darts toward the table Jester picked out. Molly can’t seem to sit at the table like a human being and is instead leaning his elbows on the table while standing, bent almost double at the waist on his tip toes. The whole posture is ridiculous if not for the fact that he’s basically putting his entire ass on display for Clay. “I think it’s safe to put that away,” Fjord says, knocking hips with Molly as he passes him.

“It never hurts to showcase the goods,” Molly says, indignant, but he snags an empty chair from the table beside them and sits with his heel up on the seat with his other leg outstretched. “Anyway, as I was saying, Nott; you’re doing the whole Criminal Justice thing. Gonna be a cop?”

“I don’t know about that,” Nott says. “I’m not smart enough to do pre-law, but I still want to be in that sort of field.”

“You’re smart!” Jester says. “You could do pre-law if you wanted to!”

“You’re always in your room studying,” Fjord adds. “You could do anything with that kind of dedication.”

“Really, it’s statement of fact,” Nott says. “I’m not looking for, for validation or anything.”

Molly shrugs, “Well you’ve got it. What makes you think there aren’t any dumb-ass lawyers, anyway?”

“Caleb is far smarter than I am and I’ve seen him struggle sometimes,” Nott says. “I couldn’t do that. It’s just, it’s too much. I like what I’m doing now.”

“Okay,” Jester says, “but I’m just saying, you could if you wanted to.”

“Well, thanks,” Nott says, thoroughly flustered. “...What about you, though? What are you studying for?”

“I want to do art stuff since I can draw really well, but like also do therapy things and help people, but I also really like to—you know—do my own thing. People keep saying, ‘Oh, Jester you should just do art therapy,’ but I don’t know how to, like _teach_ people to draw and talk about stuff. I just like to draw _and_ talk to people about stuff. You know?” Jester, gesticulating so hard Fjord is surprised she hasn’t smacked Molly across the face.

“Anybody get me a coffee or am I getting in line,” Beau interjects, elbowing Fjord as she steps into the conversation. 

“Well you didn’t text me or anything, so...”

“So?” 

Fjord rolls his eyes and hands her his coffee. She takes a sip, grimaces, then takes another.

"Why are you all doing this?" Nott asks, holding her coffee in both hands like someone's going to take it from her. "What's the scheme here?"

"No scheme," Jester says, licking the cream off the lid of her drink. "We wanted to get to know you better!"

"Why?" Nott asks, looking between them. "What's changed?"

Molly sips on his drink loudly, recoiling for a moment to blow on it before answering, "Nothing's changed, per se, we just wanted to get to know you better--see what you're really like."

"Is this about Caleb?" Nott says, glaring at them. "This is about Caleb, isn't it."

"I mean," Jester says, unhelpfully.

"We just thought that you might be feeling kinds lonely," Fjord interjects. "I know he's been pretty busy lately, and I didn't want you to feel like you didn't have anyone."

Nott frowns, "You think he's more like my dad. You think that just because he's older and professional and looks like he has it all together that I'm his baby sister."

"No," Fjord says, at the same time Beau says, "I mean..."

"You're wrong!" Nott exclaims, scooting her chair back. "He needs me even more than I need him. I could take care of myself before he came along. He's everything to me, but he needs me and I need to be there for him. I don't need you all to try to relieve the burden from Caleb by trying to- to befriend me!"

"I didn't mean that," Fjord says, looking to Beau for help.

"Look, Nott, you don't know me all that well, but trust me when I say I do not give a shit about people. If I'm here making nice, it's because I want to be here. Nobody could make me show up here. If you don't want to be friends, that's fuckin' fine by me, but don't pretend I'm here because I feel like I have to be."

"Yah," Jester says, "see! We want to be friends and we thought that maybe you were a little, you know, lonely. And I mean, technically you are."

Nott bristles for a moment before she takes a moment to mull the conversation over. She sits more firmly in her seat. "Fine."

"Uh, fine what?" Fjord asks.

"Fine we can be friends!"

Beau lifts her hands in a fake pom-pom shake, "Hooray."

Jester pushes her hands down without looking at her, "That's really great! You should come over to our room some time. It's pretty small--like, really small--but it would be nice to have more girl-talk!"

"Hey!"

"I'm not saying you're not girly, Beau! You just don't wear make-up or talk about boys or..."

Molly clears his throat, "Well, moving right along here... We were thinking of going bowling or something, could I convince you to come with us?”

Nott frowns, but not at Molly. More like frowning is something of a default thinking expression. “Maybe... maybe next time.”

“Okay,” Fjord says, trying to assure her before Jester has the chance to try and convince Nott. He’s willing to take his victories where he can and he recognizes this is as far as he’s going to safely get today.

—-

“Fjord!”

He snaps his attention from his open book to Nott, who’s standing in the kitchen doorway. “Hwhat?”

“It’s been three days, and Jester has texted me eighty-six times.”

“Are you answering her?”

Nott squints at him, “Yes?”

“Well there’s your problem,” Fjord says, closing the book heavily. He stretches his shoulders back, grunting before continuing, “Sometimes you just gotta let her text herself out over a few unread messages.

“You can’t do that,” Nott protests. “That’s rude! You should always respond to a message.”

“Nott, I promise, she’s not gonna be offended if you just let her talk for a bit and get back to her later. She will stop to eat, to text someone else, and to draw when she needs both hands. Other than that, she’s going to keep it going.”

“Rude,” she mutters, but when her phone vibrates again, she just looks at it. After a few seconds, she looks back at Fjord, “If she gets upset at me, I’m telling her you told me to ignore her.”

“Go ahead,” Fjord says, standing to stretch his legs. When he checks his own phone, he has a half a dozen messages from Jester telling him what she and Nott have been talking about and how she hadn’t realized Nott could be such a chatterbox. He pages up through them. One from Beau, telling him she Venmo’d him for the coffee. Two from Molly, one of which is a selfie of himself in front of a tattoo parlor, the other a selfie of him pouting next to the “closed” sign. Christ, the last thing Molly needs is another tattoo. Well, not the last, but certainly bottom ten things he needs. 

Fjord almost drops his phone when he realizes he missed a text from Caleb almost an hour prior.

Widogast, Esq.: “Good afternoon. Are you free?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck he should have exempted Caleb from his Do Not Disturb. He types out a quick: “I could be. Sorry for being slow on the uptake.”

No answer. Fjord swipes through his phone and sets Caleb to his favorites so that he’ll catch it when Caleb texts him back. It’s with great pain that Fjord makes himself go back to studying, but he lets himself switch back to Shakespeare rather than continuing with the Marine Bio. He loves the content, but he can only think about the Hadopelagic zone for so long before he starts reconsidering his choice in Major. _The Taming of the Shrew_ is still giving him a bit of trouble, no matter what the professor says about interpretations and how the ending fits into certain narratives. The guy forces a woman to obey him under threat of starvation and public humiliation to break her spirit. It’s pretty shitty. 

His phone buzzes an hour later, when Fjord is considering taking a break for an early dinner. 

Widogast, Esq.: “I could have spared forty minutes for coffee, but probably best that I didn’t. Always fires to put out.”

God dammit to Hell and back. 

Fjord: “Next time, then.”

Widogast, Esq.: “Of course.”

Fjord types out, “I’ll be up late studying if you want to call me before you go to bed,” but deletes it. He’s probably going to pass out by ten.

Fjord: “I miss you.”

Widogast, Esq.: “We’ll talk soon.”

Fjord exhales slowly, and closes out of the texts. He flips through his emails, makes sure none of his professors have said anything important on the online white board, and checks his accounts. Beau sent him ten bucks. He debates sending eight back, but he’s made that mistake before. He elects to buy a burger with it instead, because it’s what she would want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m already breezing through chapter 21 so, everyone can breathe easier knowing it won’t be sixty days til the next chapter. Sorry this one took so long!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord and Caleb have a Talk. It touches on some serious shit in Caleb’s past, so mind the tag changes and see the end notes for specifics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, triggers listed in detail in the end notes so feel free to skip to those before reading.

When Caleb texts him again, Fjord is in class on Wednesday. He's acutely aware of the fact that it's Caleb because he set his phone to a custom series of vibrations so he wouldn't miss it when he texted him again. Unfortunately, all this means for Fjord at the moment is that he knows Caleb's said something and he refuses to check what it is until he gets out of class in... forty minutes. He catches himself starting to grind his molars two or three times before he settles on just keeping his jaw clenched and risking the headache. It's been a long time since he's been this anxious about something as minor as a text, but they haven't had an actual conversation in almost a week now. A few scattered messages here and there don't count. When the professor packs up her bag at the front, Fjord practically bolts out of the room to check his phone in the hallway.

Widogast, Esq.: "You may call me today, when you are free."

Fjord almost drops his phone in his rush to hit the little icon at the top of the text, but manages to catch it mid-fumble and put it to his ear as it rings.

Caleb picks up on the second ring, "Fjord?"

"Yeah, it's me," Fjord says, moving through the small crowd of students pushing through the halls. "You uh, you said I could call?"

Caleb laughs, "When you were free, I said. I know you were in class."

"Well I'm not now, so uh... what's going on?"

Caleb pauses just a moment, enough that Fjord wonders what's not being said. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Well, I'm happy to oblige," Fjord says, hoping to cut to the point of this phone call. "You're sure there's nothing else I can do for you?"

Caleb chuckles, "Ja, your voice is enough right now, liebe. I have simply had a few spare moments to think about... things. You have a right to know, these things, if we are going to make it work."

Fjord lowers his voice, despite knowing full well the odds of anyone listening into his conversation--let alone having any context for it--are extremely slim. "About... your arms?"

Silence.

"Caleb?" Fjord says after a moment, getting out of the building and into the cool air.

"Ja," Caleb says, shaken. "Yes, about my arms. I apologize, this is neither pleasant nor easy and we do not have to talk about it right now."

"You don't have to be the one assuring me," Fjord says. "You're setting the pace on that. I'm just here to listen."

"I don't want you to feel that you are obligated," Caleb says, once again hedging around what he means to say.

It’s Fjord’s turn to laugh, “I don’t. Honest. I’m curious about it, of course, but I want to hear about it when you’re ready to tell me about it.” Which completely ignores half the shit Fjord should probably be ready to share with Caleb if that’s the case, but this isn’t about his load of horseshit. “Are you busy? I could come by.”

“I’m at home,” Caleb says, but Fjord knows what kind of answer that is.

“Would you like me to come by?” Fjord asks. “Yes or no.”

“I,” Caleb says, but stops short. “Yes.”

Fjord bites back an ‘Are you sure,’ and says instead, “Great, I can be there in an hour.”

“I’ll throw something together,” Caleb says. “For dinner.”

“We could order in,” Fjord says. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.” 

Fjord tries not to be put out by the fact that Caleb hangs up on him.

—-

Fjord showers, brushes his teeth, and throws on clothes. Then changes because they feel too relaxed for a Talk. He debates the merits of asking for help and decides he’s being ridiculous. He settles on jeans and the nicest long sleeve shirt he owns. Presentable. He has his keys in hand and is heading toward the front door when Nott almost collides him in the kitchen. 

“Where are _you_ going?” Nott asks, looking him up and down.

“Uh, Caleb’s? What about you?” 

Not shifts her bag over her shoulder, “Jester invited me to the campus center. What’s going on with Caleb?”

“Nothing,” Fjord says, but Nott stares up at him and he gets a heavy feeling in his stomach. She knows something’s up. “He wanted to talk about some stuff. Private stuff.”

Her scrutiny lingers for another moment or two before she relents, eyebrows unstitching, “Fine. Just. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“I’m studying forensics, Fjord. They’ll never find a body.”

“Noted,” Fjord says, scooting past her to the door. “I should be back later tonight.”

“You have class in the morning, you’d better be,” Nott calls after him.

The drive is short, but it still gives Fjord time to work himself into an anxious mess. He knows Caleb’s got some issues, that he left Ikithon even though he had made Partner. You don’t just walk away from something that lucrative and influential for no reason. He has some theories on why he’d left, but he’s trying not to think about them too hard. Caleb’s ready to tell him. No sense wondering when the answer’s right here. He pulls into the visitor space and takes out his phone. Caleb picks up with a curt, “Hello.”

“Hey, Caleb. I’m, uh, here.”

“Ja. You can come up.”

Fjord swallows, “Don’t sound so excited, I’ll think you were happy to see me.”

Caleb breathes a laugh, “Sorry. I’m, ah.” Fjord hears Caleb take a breath despite him having moved the phone away from his mouth. “Why don’t you come up?”

“Sure, be right up.” Fjord is about to say goodbye when the line goes dead. Much like his hopes for this evening being remotely pleasant.

Caleb opens the apartment door for him before he has the chance to knock. “Good to see you,” Caleb says, and hugs him. The first remotely nice thing to come from the text earlier. Fjord tries to relax into the embrace, but Caleb is practically vibrating with nervous energy. 

“It’s real good,” Fjord says into his hair. “You want to order a pizza or something?”

“I’m, ah, not hungry. Unless you are! I’m being selfish, you must be starving. I- The number should be on the refrigerator.”

Fjord holds Caleb as he starts to break away, “Caleb?”

“Yes?”

“Take a breath.”

Caleb forces a smile. “Of course.”

“We can order later,” Fjord says, trying to steer them to the couch. “I think we should talk first.”

“Right,” Caleb says, but digs his heels in as they start toward the living room. “Fjord, I want you to know that I’m... I wasn’t a good person.”

Fjord blinks. “I... I think experience tells me otherwise, so far.”

“I’m trying to be now. Trying very hard, it’s why I don’t want to talk about this, but you deserve to know.”

“I don’t deserve shit,” Fjord asserts. “Tell me because you want me to know so we can make something of this, don’t tell me because you think I deserve something.”

Caleb rubs at the second knuckle of his index finger with his thumb. “Before I met Nott, I worked with _Ikithon and Hass_.”

“Where you were partner?”

“Eventually, yes,” Caleb says. Fjord really wishes they would sit down just so he doesn’t have to see a grown man shaking like a leaf, but this is for Caleb, so he puts up with it. “He—Trent Ikithon—he recruited me before I ever went to Law School. Myself and two others from my class. My home town in fact. He said we were exceptional, that someone had recommended us to him, a professor. He offered an extremely enviable position at his firm.”

“Like an internship?”

“Yes,” Caleb says. “At first. He paid for us to attend school while we worked for him. It was- it was not easy work. Full time employment as pencil pushers in addition to full time studies. He had very strict standards. I think we three averaged twenty hours of sleep a week collectively,” Caleb laughs, but it sounds closer to a sob. 

“That sounds terrible,” Fjord says, taking a step forward. 

Caleb gives a curt shake of his head, halting Fjord in his tracks, then continues, “Not at the time. We were assured our work was important, and we were rewarded. Eventually we graduated and we worked solely for Ikithon. The hours didn’t change, not really. We all developed... coping mechanisms. To stay awake, to stay productive.”

“Smoking?” Fjord guesses.

Caleb barks a laugh, “Oh, certainly. Coffee, espresso, cigarettes. Cocaine, sometimes, when the case required our fullest attention.”

“Jesus Christ,” Fjord exclaims. “You- Wouldn’t you have been fired if Ikithon found out?”

“He provided it,” Caleb says, like it should have been obvious. “Anything to keep us productive, we simply had to ask.”

Fjord takes Caleb by the shoulder. "You're sort of scaring me," Fjord admits, trying to keep his own voice steady. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing you can help," Caleb says sharply, stepping backward and out of his grip. He's gone from pale to almost ashen. "It was- it happened- I don't-"

"Cay, it's all right, I'm sorry I-"

Caleb has a hand to his chest, grimacing as he hyperventilates, muttering something to himself in German. It's rhythmic and self-soothing, though he doesn't seem to be calming down. "Please," he grits out, "I don't want you to see me like this. I should not have. I should not have  invited you over."

"It's all right," Fjord says, holding his hands out toward Caleb like he's a spooked horse. "I want to be here."

"Don't touch me!" Caleb snaps, making Fjord recoil like he's been burned. Which is, admittedly, a poor analogy. Caleb lowers his voice, without softening the intensity, "Please, not right now."

"Caleb..." Fjord starts.

"Fjord," Caleb says. "I am not pushing you away, I-"

"You kind of are," Fjord interrupts, teeth clenched as he rocks his jaw back and forth. "Look-"

Caleb frowns, panic and anger morphing into something approaching fury. "You are in my apartment, this is my space-"

"I understand-" Fjord pleads.

"-Just leave me-"  
"-I don't want to be-"

"-Alone!"

Caleb’s staring at Fjord who has his hands out like he’s expecting a blow, both startled at their shared last word. Caleb licks his lips, still trembling minutely. “I. I’m sorry, Fjord.”

“Ain’t no sorry,” Fjord says, keeping a cautious distance. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

“You didn’t, I pushed myself, then had the gall to be upset with _you_.” Caleb braces himself on the arm of the couch. “I would like to stop talking about this now.”

“Whatever you want,” Fjord says, closing the distance to hold him. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“That’s not everything,” Caleb says against his chest.

“I don’t need to know everything. You said you haven’t smoked in a long time. I, uh, assume that goes for-“

“Nothing harder than a black coffee in four years.”

“That’s something to be proud of,” Fjord says as they shuffle onto the couch properly. “Real proud.”

“I suppose,” Caleb says, and he’s lost the tremble he had, his breathing evening out. “I wanted you to know that I have done things, not even very long ago, that I am not proud of. That I have done terrible things that I will tell you about, but I don’t think I can right now. I’m-“

“Please don’t say you’re sorry,” Fjord says, and he’s begging just a little.

Caleb sighs, pushing his palms against his eyes. “I should not be putting this shit on you. You should just make informed decisions about who you want to spend your time with, and to do that you need to know.”

“I’m just grateful you’re letting me in,” Fjord says, earnest. “I’m not a kid, Caleb. I hope you’re not thinking you need to be _the adult_. A: that’d be really creepy and B: you’ve been through some shit. I can handle it, or I’ll tell you if I can’t. Just let me decide that. You just decide if and when you want to tell me more.”

“I can do that,” Caleb says. He leans against Fjord’s shoulder, then lays his head in Fjord’s lap when he offers it. “Thank you, knuddelbärchen.”

“Any time, Cay.” Fjord runs his hand up and down Caleb’s side absently. He feels his heart rate getting back to normal and the weight on his thigh is grounding. 

“I can hear your stomach growling,” Caleb mutters. “We should get you something to eat.”

Fjord considers his next sentence, decides now isn’t the time, and says, “I could do pizza.”

“Could it wait just a few minutes?” Caleb asks, not stirring from his position on the couch and Fjord’s leg.

Fjord smiles, “Yeah. We’ve got time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:  
> Past drug use: Trent encouraged the use of cocaine and other stimulants in his protégées which leads into warnings for substantial emotional and lifestyle abuse and self-harm. It’s not graphic, but it is present.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord and Caleb eat, talk about Caleb’s past, and have yet another discussion about sex. Nothing particularly graphic, but occasionally crude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is discussion of underaged drinking and general college shenanigans, talk of sex and some physical intimacy. See end notes for more details.

Fjord is comfortable just stroking Caleb's hair and relaxing on the couch. His stomach is less comfortable with that and gives a riotous rumble. Fjord blushes, "About that pizza..."

Caleb stirs, "Ja, we can get that now. What did you want on it?"

“Anything’s fine,” Fjord says. “Did you want me to order it?”

“No, no, I can handle this much; I’m not so helpless I can’t manage a phone call,” Caleb mutters and sits up to fish his phone out of his pocket. Fjord bites his tongue on a response, waiting patiently, stroking Caleb’s back as he makes the call. After confirming the address, and confirming the card on file, he hangs up and goes right back to laying in Fjord’s lap. “Still fairly helpless,” he says, closing his eyes.

“You’re not helpless,” Fjord says, gently. “You’re strong as... uh... Come on, I’m sure your pal William had a good simile here.”

“‘Strong as aconitum or rash gunpowder’,” Caleb quotes, eyes still closed.

Fjord doesn’t know exactly what aconitum is, but he’s willing to bet it’s somehow self deprecating given Caleb’s tone. “‘Strong as fuck’ it is, then,” Fjord says. “Honestly, Caleb. You’re impressive, you’re smart, you’re kind. I can see why Nott cares about you so much.”

“She sees the best in me,” Caleb says, “even when I am not at my best.”

“You deserve that.” Fjord cards his fingers through Caleb’s hair. It helps transform Caleb’s doubtful grunt into a relaxed sigh. It’s easy to let the silence hold for a while, apart from the embarrassing churn of his guts every so often, but Caleb doesn't comment on it. When the knock comes, Fjord eases a pliable Caleb off his lap and back down onto the cushions. Caleb gives him a wry look, but doesn't protest the light manhandling. Fjord pats his pockets like the world's worst macarena until he finds his wallet on the way to the door. A couple bucks in hand, he opens the door to a younger woman with an insulated bag in one hand with the other outstretched to knock again.

“Medium, sausage and pepper?”

“Yeah," Fjord says, taking the box and trying to hand her the tip. "Uh, here.”

"Mr. Widogast tips on his card, sir," she says, putting the bag back over her shoulders. Fjord watches her leave, a little dumbstruck, then shakes his head and heads back inside.

"They know you by name around these parts, huh," Fjord says, putting the pie on the table.

"Ja, I don't... I don't cook dinner very often," Caleb says, stretching his arms over his head.

Fjord just hums, helping himself to a slice as he searches the cabinets for plates and cups. After a moment, Caleb gently pushes him aside to retrieve them. Since he looks to be in better spirits, and because Fjord is starving, Fjord lets Caleb set the table. He chokes on a laugh when Caleb pulls a bottle from the fridge. "Wine and pizza?"

“They're both italian," Caleb says, and pours two glasses. "I also need to get rid of it, so if you have no objections?”

“Sounds good," Fjord says. He takes a seat opposite Caleb. "Thank you.”

“Bitte. It's nothing.”

Fjord finishes his second, and his third, and is halfway through a fourth slice and third glass when he pauses to check on Caleb's progress. He's watching Fjord, still working on his first slice and glass, expression hard to read. Fjord wipes his face and hands on a napkin. "So, uh, I know you said you didn't want to talk about some things anymore..."

Caleb freezes, hand clutched tight around his glass, "Yes..."

Fjord's immediately reminded of his first real snowstorm up here, where the snow had gotten almost a foot deep then frozen over. He'd tried walking along it and found that some sections could actually hold his weight, tenuously, only he had to be extremely careful not to tread too quickly or he would punch through and gash the shit out of his shin. Maybe he's extending the metaphor. Regardless, "I was just wondering if you'd wanted to talk about some other stuff."

"What would you like to hear about?" Caleb asks after downing his glass of wine.

"Tell me the good things about it, about your time in college," Fjord says.

Caleb frowns, looking into the middle distance between them for a moment. "Euh, I remember our first weekend away from our parents. The three of us--Astrid, Eodwulf, and I--we didn't know what to do with ourselves. I think it was Eodwulf who suggested we find a bar. I'll blame it on him, at least."

"Ooh, underaged drinking," Fjord says.

“It would have been, if we'd been able to find a bar that would let us in. Instead, the three of us managed to get lost downtown while stone sober, my sense of direction utterly undone by the layout of the city and our inability to navigate public transportation.”

“Your first mistake was going downtown.”

Caleb smiles, which is a massive relief, "Ja, well, we were excited to go places and do things that we had never been allowed to do. Instead of getting drunk or high, though, we managed to get home hours later, exhausted and irritated."

“That's... not exactly the happy story I was expecting.”

"When we got home," Caleb continues, "Eodwulf had been snappish, I was trying to just find somewhere to put my feet up, but then Astrid disappeared into her room and came back with a bottle of Jäger. I don’t know if she just had it with her the whole time, if she had stolen it... Regardless, Eodwulf’s mood improved drastically. We drank ourselves sick watching some shit movie on the dormitory television, slipping in and out of English until none of us could remember what we were speaking. I think the Resident Assistant checked in on us, but Eodwulf convinced her that we were exchange students and it was actually legal for us to be drunk because we followed German drinking laws.”

Fjord laughs, “He sounds pretty slick.”

“Not in the slightest, he was just big and loud and speaking broken English.”

“The Arnold Schwarzenegger approach.”

Caleb frowns, “Mr. Schwarzenegger is Austrian.”

“I, uh, honestly didn’t know there was a difference,” Fjord admits, and covers his flush by finishing the rest of his glass. Wine’s not half bad anymore.

“Well, thankfully America won the war, so there is one. To steer this back to more comfortable waters—Astrid found that hilarious and attempted to get into every bar we ever saw right up until we were twenty-one using that as an excuse.” Caleb looks content with the memory as he recounts it, a welcome difference from almost every single other time Fjord’s inquired about his past. “Astrid and Eodwulf were my closest friends. Well, yes, friends.”

Fjord’s not sure how to unpack that statement, so he goes with, “I’m glad you had people you could rely on. And... thank you, for telling me about them.”

“No, I should thank you,” Caleb says, reaching across the table to take Fjord’s hand. “Thank you for helping me be a little less of an asshole. You are very kind to help me remember that it wasn’t always shit.”

“It’s nothing, Caleb,” Fjord says, blushing despite himself. “I never thought you were an asshole.”

Caleb laughs, but it’s on the right side of self-aware versus self-deprecating. “You met me at a good time.”

Fjord scoots his chair closer to Caleb, “I met you at a great time, I reckon.”

Caleb leans in for a kiss, which Fjord gladly gives him. He’s full and warm and happy—and maybe some of that is the wine—but Caleb is relaxed and the line in his brow has smoothed out. “Would you like to move back to the couch?”

Fjord hesitates, “We could. If you wanted to.”

“Would you rather the bedroom?” Caleb asks. 

“I, uh... Mr. Widogast, are you trying to seduce me?”

Caleb snorts, “You just finished the last of a mostly full bottle of wine so I am not letting you drive home for at least another hour or two; so what will it be, couch or bed?”

“If I pick bed, will you lie down with me?”

Caleb sighs, rolling his eyes, “Oh, Mr. Fjord, you drive such a hard bargain; but if I must...”

Which is how Fjord finds their positions reversed, Caleb reading a book by the lamp on the nightstand while he lies with his face against Caleb’s stomach, belly down between Caleb’s legs. Caleb scratches the back of his head absently between flipping pages. Fjord yawns, lifting his head to rub at where a button has imprinted onto his cheek. “You could take your shirt off, you know.”

“Now who’s seducing who?” Caleb asks, not looking away from the book. “If the buttons are bothering you, you are free to undo them yourself.”

Fjord glares up at the book, Caleb’s face completely hidden behind it. He unbuttons the shirt, tugging it apart to reveal the thin undershirt he wears beneath, hitched slightly up with a tantalizing strip of fuzzy skin. Fjord looks back up at the book. Caleb turns a page. With a swift shove, the shirt goes halfway up Caleb’s stomach and Fjord blows a raspberry into the skin just beneath Caleb’s bellybutton.

Caleb yelps, swats Fjord’s head with the book, and nearly bucks them both off the bed. “Fjord what the fuck!”

Fjord laughs, rubbing the back of his head before lightly butting his forehead against Caleb’s stomach. “You’re not paying attention to me.”

“You’re worse than Frumpkin,” Caleb says, putting the book on the nightstand then rubbing the same spot Fjord’s tending to. “And you’re lucky that was a paperback.”

“Sorry, but you hit me and now you gotta kiss it better. Pretty sure that’s a law.”

Caleb sighs, hooks his hands under Fjord’s arms, and strains to pull Fjord up the bed. Through the grace of slippery blankets and Fjord’s help, he gets Fjord chest to chest. “You are trouble, aren’t you.”

“Good trouble,” Fjord says, and when the usual self-deprecation begins to bubble up, he throttles it right back down by kissing Caleb into the pillows. 

Caleb pushes Fjord’s shoulders up after a moment, his face going a lovely shade of red, “Are you...”

“I’m a grown man with a mighty constitution,” Fjord says. “Four glasses of wine half an hour ago isn’t impairing my judgment.”

“Alright,” Caleb says, tentatively running his hands down Fjord’s sides. 

“Unless uh, shit, tonight was pretty heavy. We don’t have to do anything. I should actually be getting home, shouldn’t I? Class in the morning and all.”

“I am not made of glass. If you would like to- to take this further, I wouldn’t mind it.”

Fjord fights valiantly against the fact that his blood seems to have simultaneously turned to steam and pooled in his groin. “No, nope, this isn’t a good idea. I wanted this to be a good night for you and I won’t make this selfish,” Fjord says, and he can hear the strain in his voice. 

Caleb’s expression sours, “Fjord, I’ve told you, you’re not being selfish just because I am... because of how I am.”

“No, fuck, Caleb, that’s not what-“

“I’m not some broken thing you need to take care of, or- or suppress your needs in some grand sacrifice for my benefit.”

“Cay, I didn’t mean it like that!”

Caleb’s jaw sets firmly. “Fjord, do you have a gun on you?”

Fjord sits up in surprise. “No?!”

“So what was it that was prodding me.”

“God dammit, Caleb. Yes, I want you. Yes, I want you _now._ No, I don’t think I’m making a sacrifice. You just. Tell me how _you_ would feel if you really wanted something, asked me about it, and I said, “I wouldn’t mind”?” Fjord asks.

Caleb deflates a bit, looking away sheepishly. “I would feel, I suppose, disappointed in your lack of enthusiasm. I’m sorry, I didn’t explain myself very well, or not enough, or...”

“No, Caleb, you did; I guess I didn’t really understand and I want to. This just maybe isn’t the best night for it?”

“You are treating me like I am broken again,” Caleb warns.

Fjord sighs, now very aware of how he’s kneeling between Caleb’s legs. “It doesn’t bother you that you called me over to tell me some deep shit and now I’m horndogging like an hour later?”

“Fjord, you are allowed to have a sex drive. Most people have one.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ve got to act on it all the time.”

“I am not repulsed by sex, Fjord. I enjoy it, even. I would enjoy it with you a great deal more than with most, and have enjoyed it with you a great deal. So I will ask you, would you _please_ tell me honestly what you want?”

“I would like, quite a lot, to fuck.”

“Did it hurt to say out loud?” Caleb asks, eyes hooded.

“Got me right where I’m tenderest.”

“The balls?”

“The pride.”

Caleb laughs, “Just get down here, we’ll see what other tender parts we can get to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detailed warnings:  
> Caleb talks about Astrid, Caleb, and Eodwulf getting hammered, but the conversation is light and positive.
> 
> Sex discussion is uncomfortable and serious, negotiating Caleb’s sex drive against Fjord’s and getting somewhat heated.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a tense evening that ended pretty nicely, Fjord has to think on what he’s really getting into with a new relationship like this one. Beau is back!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s my birthday and you get the present of a new chapter!
> 
> In all seriousness, though, I apologize for the delay (and I’m not looking for pity or anything even though I feel like I’m always making excuses for only updating like once a month), but life hit pretty hard in March and April has been the recovery month. ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Fjord wakes up with a jolt, unsure of how long he's been asleep. The room is dark, but given Caleb's blackout curtains, that doesn't actually mean anything. Said man is, mercifully, still asleep, breathing evenly against Fjord's chest. He can feel a damp spot against on his skin at the corner of Caleb's mouth, and the fact that he finds it endearing rather than gross informs him that he is in deep shit, emotionally speaking.

He doesn't remember the dream that woke him up, though his body remembers enough that his heart's still racing. He would almost prefer he remembered what it was, just so he could rationalize it somehow. The pillows are a cool comfort when he rests his head back against them and looks toward the nightstand and Caleb's alarm clock. The red numbers staring back at him tell him it's only just past 5am. He doesn't have a change of clothes, though, so he should head back to his apartment soon to be ready for class. At least he has a toothbrush here, set aside last night beside a disposable cup. Fjord gives himself five more minutes.

At quarter past five on the dot, Caleb snaps to wakefulness with a shallow gasp, startling Fjord out of his drowsy haze. "Sorry," Caleb says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the motion more felt than seen in the darkness. "Close your eyes," he warns before pulling the string on the lamp. Even through his eyelids, the bright light hurts.

“Morning," Fjord says, rough with sleep. He stretches, careful not to elbow Caleb as his back and shoulders pop. "Hope you don't mind if I just, uh, skedaddle. I've got class, you've got work...”

“Oh, ja, of course. I've got to get to work shortly." Caleb starts to shuffle out of bed, "Let me just get Frumpkin out of the way.”

"It's fine," Fjord says, pulling his pants off the floor and slipping his feet into them. "I'll be out of here in a minute anyway.

“Sure,” Caleb says, walking into the bathroom, naked but for his socks. “Well, if you’d like, help yourself to the Keurig.”

“Will do,” Fjord says and gets to his feet as the door closes behind Caleb. Rather than dwell on how much this feels like a one night stand, Fjord makes himself a coffee and drinks it while Caleb showers with an efficiency Fjord can hardly fathom; in and out in four minutes. At the apartment it takes that long just for the water to settle on a temperature. He’s washing out his mug when Caleb exits the bedroom mostly dressed a few minutes after the water goes off. He has a towel over his shoulders to protect his button down from the dampness of his hair and a tie wrapped loosely in one hand. “Looking good,” Fjord tries, drying out the mug with a dish towel before walking up to him.

“Thank you,” Caleb says. He looks Fjord up and down, “You make yesterday’s clothes look spectacular.”

“It’s a talent,” Fjord says. He lets Caleb sink into an easy embrace, knocking their foreheads together gently. It’s nice, even if Caleb’s skin is cold with the water still clinging to him. When Caleb leans up for a kiss, Fjord presses their lips together, but balks when Caleb attempts to deepen it. Fjord frets at the confused look on Caleb’s face, “Sorry, I just- Coffee and morning breath? Not a great combination. At least let a man brush his teeth.”

“O-oh, yes, of course.”

“Sorry,” Fjord tries again.

“No, it’s fine,” Caleb says. “Really. The bathroom is free, but I should really get ready for work. Would you mind terribly just making sure that the apartment is locked when you leave?”

“It won’t take me that long to brush my teeth.”

“Five minutes.”

“Pardon?” Fjord asks.

“It takes you five minutes to brush your teeth and wash your face. I will have my jacket in one and let my hair dry in the car. You can take your time, just make sure the apartment is locked, ja?”

Fjord frowns, but nods along, “Sure, suits me fine. Uh, have a good day at work.”

“We will see,” Caleb says, brushing by Fjord, then pauses. He takes Fjord’s hand in his own and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I hope your classes go well today.”

Fjord retreats into the bathroom to brush his teeth as Caleb bustles through the bedroom. It takes him four minutes and thirty seconds to get ready, thank you very much, but Caleb is already out the door and likely half-way to his car by the time Fjord emerges. Damn that German efficiency. He doesn’t really have anything to delay him in Caleb’s apartment, but Caleb offered him the amenities, and he doesn’t want to offend by not spending enough time here. He paces the bedroom, notes Caleb somehow found time to tuck the sheets and flatten the blankets as well as set his book on the nightstand to find easily when he gets home. It makes Fjord a little self conscious, honestly. 

As he pulls his shoes on at the front door, Fjord hears a low growl coming from the kitchen. When he peeks in, Frumpkin is sitting primly on one of the chairs, staring at him. When Fjord meets eyes, the cat chirps twice and slinks down off it to the floor.

“Woah,” Fjord says, holding up his hands. The cat stops its approach. “Easy there, tiger. You’re just a little ball of allergens, aren’t you? I’m just on my way out so don’t, you know, go darting out the second I open the door, y’hear?”

Frumpkin tilts his head, but doesn’t move, which Fjord takes as a good sign. He cautiously opens the door, and Frumpkin watches him slip out. Fjord gives the cat one last look before pulling the door closed. He gives the door a tug, but it latched and doesn’t budge. Fjord starts to walk away, then doubles back and gives the knob another pull, and it remains locked. Fjord snaps a shot of the closed door on his phone and walks to his car.

It’s still dark as he drives home. The apartments are well lit, sequestered as they are in the sparse woodland near the school, which is a blessing because without them Fjord is pretty sure he would have busted his face open given the number of tripping hazards on the sidewalk. He wants to be quiet as he lets himself back in, and since Nott isn’t waiting for him at the kitchen counters, he assumes he’s successful in that endeavor. 

Classes in the morning are uneventful, though he doesn’t pay the closest attention to them. His phone vibrates in his pocket just as the latest professor lets them leave a few minutes early. 

Beau: “Meet @ cc 1130”

Fjord types back, “Sure. Heading over.” If that weren’t her typical texting style, it would be ominous. As it is, she’s just got terrible text manners. Getting to the campus center from class doesn’t take long, just across the podium and toward the Sciences building. Fjord tries to let himself enjoy the warm air while he still can, ignoring the bustle of other students around him as he walks. It’s getting close to the end of fall. Not long before it’ll be cold as shit, and it’s going to be that land-locked dry-cold that leaves him with chapped lips and ashy skin, too. He has to remember to ask Beau about what she uses up here. 

When he walks toward the café, he can see Beau already at their usual table. She has a coffee in hand, a second waiting for him along with a little plate of sweetrolls. “Hey,” he says, once he’s close enough to be heard over the low roar. 

“Hey,” she says back. Once he’s seated, she continues, “Heard through the grape fine that you didn’t come home last night.”

“Heard from who?”

“Jester, who heard from Nott. So you're good now?”

Fjord blinks, "What?"

Beau sighs, shifting on her legs because this girl cannot put her ass on the seat for some reason. "You and Widogast, you're good now?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" Fjord asks, looking at her warily.

“Dude, you were talking like, two days ago, about how it'd been a while since you'd last seen him in person and you missed him and you were worried and blah, blah blah; now you've got a hickey so deep it's going yellow. I'm assuming I don't have to beat the absolute shit out of you for cheating on your roommate's brother, ergo you and Widogast met up last night.”

"You can call him Caleb, you know," Fjord says, pulling apart the sticky bun in front of him.

Beau sets her jaw, "Anyone ever tell you you're the worst person to talk to when they're trying to be genuine?"

“Fine, yes, we're doing well," Fjord says. "Things just got a little, you know, a little tense. I might've pissed him off, accidentally.”

Beau's face goes dark for a second before going frighteningly stoic, "Where'd you say he lives again?"

“Not when he gave me this!" Fjord says, putting a hand to his neck. "We made up first. Thank you, though.”

“Ooh, make-up sex.”

Fjord rolls his eyes. "In a manner of speaking."

“Okay, you had a fight. Those suck. Unless you're me and you always win them. So like, what happened?”

“It's... personal shit.”

“Oh my god I hate personal shit. Yours or his?”

“His, I guess," Fjord says, swirling his coffee. "I knew a bit of it going in, the sex stuff, but uh...”

“Look dude, I'm not asking for the gritty details, just tell me this: is it a deal breaker?”

Fjord thinks it over. His instinct is to say no, that it's something he can deal with precisely because he, quite frankly, doesn't have to deal with it. "Caleb's said he doesn't like to talk about it, and it's something he's got a handle on. But I should want to deal with it. Right?"

“How should I know?”

“Aren't you supposed to be zen?”

"I’m zen enough to know I don’t know how to deal with your boyfriend’s deep shit,” Beau says, crushing her cup and tossing it toward the trash. It arcs beautifully before hitting the rim and rolling into the basket. “I asked you a question and you gave me another question. Try answering my question first. Is it a deal breaker?”

“No,” Fjord says. He gnaws on his lip for a moment. “I don’t think?”

Beau sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Okay. Pretend-therapy it is. Why would it be a dealbreaker? Do you think it’s stuff that could hurt you?”

“You don’t have to play therapist-“

“Apparently I do, so let’s keep it quick.”

“No, it wouldn’t hurt me, not like he has a mob hit out on him or something. I just think he might want to share too much before he’s ready and like, psyche himself out.”

“Out of the relationship?” Beau asks.

“I... guess? He asked me over to tell me some stuff, but then he got sorta cagey about it. I don’t want him to feel _obligated_ to tell me stuff, but I also don’t want to have to piece it all together out of order and fuck it up.” 

“Sounds to me like you could just not try to draw conclusions.”

“Thank you for the advice, Doctor Lionnet!” Fjord says, a little loud.

“Oof, someone’s cranky. I’m not saying don’t think about it, but just, keep it to yourself. Wait for him to tell you all of it before you go fucking it up and psyching _yourself_ out, dude.” 

“Sorry, just- I dunno if I can stop myself from overthinking this.”

“Quelle surprise, Fjord’s neurotic. Look, I love you, but you’re gonna fuck this up if you don’t, like, take a step back from his problems. You’ve got your own shit—and maybe you could share some of that with him so it’s not all on you and he’s not stuck feeling like he’s pushing all his issues on you.” Beau rolls her shoulders. “Anyway I wanted to meet up to see if you’d wanna come by my dorm some time this weekend.”

“Shit, sorry I made this all about me,” Fjord says, not that he’s surprised his bullshit dominated conversation. “What’d you need.”

“We, well mostly Jester and Molly, wanted to see you. She knows you’ve been getting lunch with her less often since you found out her mom’s the one basically footing the bill; and while you made up with Molly for whatever reason you had to make up, you’re still both being a little fucking weird around each other.”

Fjord frowns. Has he really been _that guy_? “Yeah, ‘course. No problem. What time?”

Beau’s looking at him strangely, but she just says, “Friday, around eight? Just gonna play Card Against Humanity or something, probably not drinking given Jester’s weird, passive-aggressive war with the RA has put us on her shit-list. It’d be nice to hang out. Bring Nott.”

“Sure,” Fjord says. “Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bjeaus was the only way I knew how to transition from the heaviness of the last few chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr at ryebreadwrites.tumblr.com if you want to shoot me any questions there. It’s a new tumblr so content will be coming slowly.
> 
> Edit: I sketched out an approximation of a human Fjord. [Here](https://ryebreadwrites.tumblr.com/post/174780911897/late-night-extremely-rough-sketch-of-humanfjord)
> 
> And TheDutchArtist did an absolutely STUNNING drawing of Jester as she appears here! [Boop](https://78.media.tumblr.com/f4da99470a734d4c7869d05ab6538104/tumblr_pd8tqpCqGk1v17zifo1_540.png)
> 
> And [Molly](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/446056982613590026/479035044959092739/image.png) and [Nott](https://78.media.tumblr.com/f7f8b105d02e019eba832e7cf54d6c0a/tumblr_pfctihhnKl1v17zifo1_1280.png) also by TheDutchArtist
> 
> Nott, Caleb, and Fjord done [Here](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/446056982613590026/478781871162130442/IMG_20180814_002459.png) by Sage, aka Kesterite on Tumbler or @grandmagrease on Twitter


End file.
